Burden of Proof
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: A photographer seeks to clear his name in a scandal. Follows 'Devil's in the Details'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _A little more backstory for Christian, along with a glimpse at one of the supporting characters. The resolution of this is open-ended, so it's very likely we'll see the character again. Thanks again to PDXWiz, Harry2, jtbwriter and BishopT. _

This one is for the "real-life counterpart"…you know who you are…  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
§ § § -- January 10, 2002

"Aw, geez…" moaned the reporter at the desk next to Gordy Strassner's. "Not again…"

"Not what again?" Gordy asked, moving his computer mouse back and forth to wake up his machine. He eyed the box of doughnuts sitting on his colleague's desk, and the other man caught him at it.

"Hands off, Strassner. There's another freaking glitch in this thing. You better tell Bud to call that computer place over in Amberville." The reporter, a recently-married young man in his late twenties by the name of Kevin, glared at his monitor. "Y'know, if the suits in charge would quit being such Scrooges and start replacing all the computersaurus rexes in here, I bet this'd quit happening in no time flat."

"Hey, we gotta support the techies," Gordy kidded, gingerly pulling the lid off his paper cup of coffee and dumping in some cream. As he did, he looked up at his monitor and discovered a blank screen. "What's this, some sort of virus? Mine's on the fritz too. Figures. I needed to transfer some shots off a disk."

Kevin half rose and called across the room, "Hey, Myeko, your computer working?"

Myeko Okada looked up in surprise. She had just returned to work from her maternity leave and was still having some trouble readjusting to her regular work schedule: before she could answer, she let out a huge yawn. "I just got here," she said. "You want to give me a chance to sit down and see if it's still alive?" She snorted and added, half to herself, "If it is, it'll be doing better than I am."

Gordy and Kevin chuckled. "Baby still keeping you up at night?" Kevin asked.

"It's not Dawn…she's finally sleeping through the night. I just can't seem to get used to waking up early again. I always went back to bed after I got Alexander and Noelle off to school. Oh, crud. Must be going around. My stupid computer's dead." Myeko dropped her purse into her chair and wandered over to their desks. "You think the big cheeses around here are ever going to get the message that they need to spring for new ones?"

"Of course not," said Kevin. "They're fat cats—they'll replace their own computers, but us peons have to make do with these glorified abacuses. Hey, Strassner, I said hands off." Gordy was still eyeing the doughnuts.

"What, you eat an entire box of those things every day?" Gordy said, grinning. "If you do, you're worse than me."

Myeko laughed. "Impossible. Oh, hey, there's Bud. Bud, you better call Enstad Computer Services again. Mine and Kevin's and Gordy's dinosaurs decided to start their weekends a couple days early." The Humanities editor paused on his way to his desk, then rolled his eyes and groaned.

"Oh, that's just perfect," he grumbled. "We're making that place rich, I'm telling you. That German guy's a whiz with these things. Before you give me your disk, Myeko, let me see if mine's up or not." He went off to his desk, discovered his computer was also down, and made the phone call.

Within ten minutes Christian Enstad arrived, glancing around the room with curious interest. "Oh wow, we get the owner himself," Kevin kidded. "Yo, Mr. Enstad!"

Christian looked at him with surprise, then grinned. "Good morning to you too," he said. "So I understand that all the computers in this room have taken a little vacation?"

"Every last one," Kevin assured him.

"It's an epidemic," said Myeko from her desk. "Hi there, Christian, how's life?"

Christian turned to her and grinned again. "Ah, so this is where you work. We're fine, Myeko, how about Nick and the kids? Are you finally getting used to dragging yourself off to work like the rest of us?" Myeko rolled her eyes, precipitating laughter, and Christian pulled up a chair and chose a computer at random to examine. "Oh, and hello, Gordy…it's been a while."

"Yeah, it has," Gordy agreed, pushing his glasses back up. "How's it going, Christian?"

"Can't complain," Christian murmured, looking at Gordy's monitor, shutting off the surge-protector switch and then turning it back on, and waiting to see what happened while he dug around in an overstuffed briefcase. "Leslie and I were tossing around some ideas about what we're going to do for our anniversary next week."

"Why bother?" Gordy joshed him, sipping from his coffee cup. "You know there's gonna be a big stink about it, and all you and Leslie have to do is show up."

Christian rolled his eyes, and Gordy laughed, settling back in his chair. He sometimes found it amazing to realize he'd become friends with a former prince; it had come about gradually across the past year. Shortly after Christian and Leslie's marriage, the newspaper's aging computers had begun breaking down on a regular basis, necessitating frequent repair visits from someone at Christian's business. Usually it was Anton Lauterhoff, whose primary job was troubleshooting; but Anton's weekends fell on Wednesdays and Thursdays, and today happened to be one of the latter. So the task had fallen to Christian this time. The computers went down so often that the paper actually had Enstad Computer Services on what they termed a "semi-permanent retainer", which supposedly indicated that they'd get around to replacing the machines eventually. So far there had been no sign of any such occurrence, so Christian and Anton had grown used to coming out to the newspaper building about two miles down the Ring Road from Amberville. The Humanities office had the oldest computers in the building, so that theirs broke down more than anyone else's.

Christian took in the scene on the monitor, turned off the surge protector again and shook his head, finally unearthing a small screwdriver. "I really need to clean this out," he observed absently, fitting the tool into one of the screws on the tower housing and swiftly twisting it loose. "Leslie would never stop teasing me if she knew it's such a mess."

"Oh, yeah, that's right…you're Mr. Clean," Gordy said through a laugh. "Hey, I'll keep your dirty little secret for you. What're friends for?"

Christian laughed, loosening the next screw. "I appreciate it. Do you have something small that will hold these screws, Gordy?"

They talked amiably for the next twenty minutes or so, while Christian examined the interior of Gordy's tower and removed a couple of components to check their condition. Now and then Kevin and Myeko got in on the conversations, while Myeko went through some European entertainment magazines for snippets for next week's column and Kevin contributed the occasional joke in between phone calls to newspapers on other South Pacific islands. Bud offered Christian a cup of coffee, which he accepted.

"Oh, man, you don't want the paper's coffee," Kevin exclaimed. "That stuff tastes like hot tar. You should do what Strassner here does and hit the café."

"I make my own coffee at home, actually," Christian told him with a chuckle, replacing a component in the tower. "Unfortunately, it's still sitting on my desk. Julianne suggested when she took your call that it was a matter of life and death over here."

"It _is_ a matter of life and death," Myeko said. "Namely ours, if the big cheeses wander in here and see we're not working."

"Don't worry, I'll see if I can get you a stay of execution," Christian kidded her, "since these things are down again. Bud, have you tried asking the corporate types to replace them? Do they ever actually come here and see what condition they're really in?"

Bud grunted, "Naah, we're the redheaded stepchildren in this place. Nobody ever notices us, unless somebody they know makes the obits or manages to get a mention in Myeko's column. Uh, Gord, you've got some mail on your desk there. I kept meaning to tell you, but this stupid phone wouldn't quit ringing." Having said that, he groaned aloud when his phone rang again, and everyone laughed. While Christian began to carefully clean the interior of the tower, Gordy shoved aside some of the detritus on his desk and found the mail Bud had referred to.

"Want a doughnut, Mr. Enstad?" Kevin offered, holding out the box.

"No, but thank you," said Christian with a quick smile.

Gordy looked up with feigned outrage. "Hey, what's with you, Mossevich? How come he rates a doughnut and I don't?"

"He's a guest," Kevin said. "You're the resident eating machine. I just thought one of these might counteract that liquid tar Bud gave you, Mr. Enstad." That got him another laugh from Christian, who had yet to touch the cup Bud had left on the corner of Gordy's desk, and Kevin shook his head. "I'm serious, man, that stuff's lethal."

Christian paused, glanced questioningly back at him, then lifted the cup and peered at its contents. "I've heard of black coffee, but this is ridiculous."

"You better pour that junk out, Christian," Myeko advised from her desk. "You don't want a case of food poisoning."

"Geez," yelled Bud, "do you mind? I made that myself."

Christian looked across the room at him and remarked straight-faced, "Well, in that case, now I know whom to sue." Laughter rang through the room, and Christian grinned, taking an experimental sip while Gordy finally found his letter opener and sliced it through the flap of an envelope. He looked up at Christian's loud gulp and noticed the former prince wore a wide-eyed look. Christian caught Gordy's gaze, cleared his throat loudly and gave his head a sharp shake, and said, "I don't suppose you'd have any sugar…"

Gordy snickered. "Always keep a stash for emergencies. Cripes, Bud, did you put the pot on extra-strength again? Christian'll have enough caffeine in him to keep him awake till Sunday." He smirked at Bud's glare and rummaged around in another drawer, while Christian set the cup aside and resumed his tinkering. After a minute Gordy found two small packets and handed them to Christian, who murmured thanks and lifted out the motherboard to scrutinize. Kevin finally offered Gordy his doughnut box; Gordy, never one to miss an opportunity, helped himself to two.

"Hey, I meant you could take one," Kevin protested.

"You should've said only one," Gordy returned easily, taking a bite. "Myeko, if you want one of these, get it now while Kev's feeling generous. Hey, these are good. Sure you don't want one, Christian?"

Christian snorted. "If you think these computers are in bad shape now, imagine what would happen if I got chocolate glaze on them."

"They'd probably actually work," Myeko wisecracked, evoking laughter again. "It's chocolate, after all. The greatest panacea on the planet. Oh, Christian, that reminds me. Is Leslie gonna be free on Monday? There's this new chocolate shop in the Coral Island mall, and I wanted to show it to her."

"I think so," Christian said. "Just to be safe, call after lunch." He scowled. "Well, so this is the problem. Bud, whatever you have to do to get these computers replaced, you'd better start doing it. Gordy's motherboard is completely shot. I can back you up if the purchasing department wants documentation to justify the expense, but whatever you do, it's got to be quick."

"You mean we're not going to have any way to work at all in here?" Myeko exclaimed.

"Cool, does that mean we can take the day off?" Kevin asked eagerly.

"In your dreams, hotshot," Bud grunted. "Okay, Mr. Enstad, I'll put in a requisition, but I don't hold out much hope. I might as well warn you to expect a phone call for that justification you mentioned."

"I should probably make notes," muttered Christian good-naturedly. "There are so many things wrong with these machines, I wouldn't be able to remember them all without a detailed list. I do have some spare parts with me, at least."

"_Whoa!!"_ Gordy blurted suddenly, instantly catching everyone's attention. "This is great! Hey, you won't believe this…Christian, remember those pictures I took of you and Leslie at Myeko's interview last year? They finally started getting some attention! I've got letters from magazines in the states and Canada offering me freelance work if I want it, and a couple of 'em are even asking if I'm interested in joining their staff!"

"Go for it," Kevin said immediately. "My doughnuts would finally be safe."

Christian looked impressed. "Congratulations! Seems belated to me, but I suppose it's better late than never. You'll have to let us know what you plan to do."

"I'll do that," Gordy agreed cheerfully. "Maybe I'll drop you an e-mail, since we don't seem to run into each other much. Or I would if that piece of junk was working."

Christian, reminded, turned the motherboard over in his hands a couple of times and then laid it on the seat of the chair he had pulled up before checking a pocket in the lid of his briefcase and extracting a plastic-wrapped package. Then he turned to Myeko and asked her, "What happened when you tried to boot up your machine?"

"Looked normal for about half a minute," she said. "It came up like it was supposed to, but then it just quit, boom, just like that. Since you came in here and started poking around with Gordy's, it's come up and gone out the same way about four times. It's really weird, you know? Like there's some little gremlin in there, or the thing's alive."

Christian grinned. "Ah. I think I know what the problem is with yours. And how about you?" This he directed at Kevin.

Kevin glanced at Gordy, who was avidly reading another letter. "Pretty much the same thing as Gordy's. But I keep getting this eerie grinding noise inside mine."

Christian paused, regarded him curiously and asked half-jokingly, "You don't beat up your tower when it's giving you trouble, do you?"

Kevin stared at him. "How'd you know? I pound on it at least twice a day just to get it to work."

"Computer abuse," Gordy cracked without looking up. "I'm a witness."

"So it seems," Christian remarked, chuckling and shaking his head. "All those fisticuffs are probably beginning to shift something inside the tower, and it might be rubbing up against something else to produce that noise. I'd go so far as to suggest you're quite lucky it's worked for you up till now."

"Mossevich, you're gonna be liable for that equipment," Bud called from his desk.

"Hey, now, wait a minute…" Kevin yelped in a panic, only to have Bud smirk at him and make him glare. "All right, all right, your coffee isn't liquid tar!" Laughter echoed around the room again, and Christian, still chuckling, set about installing the new motherboard in Gordy's tower and replacing the housing.

"This is just great," Gordy said, pushing up his glasses again and shaking his head in wonder as he waited for his computer to boot up. "You wouldn't believe this. Offers from all these big-shot newspapers and magazines…"

"You gonna desert us and take off for greener pastures?" asked Myeko, glancing over for a moment while Christian was removing her tower's housing. "I mean, this is pretty small potatoes, after all."

"Hey, we're the biggest paper on the island," Bud said.

"We're the _only_ paper on the island," retorted Myeko, noting Christian's grin. "There's a lot of turnover here, actually. I don't know the names of half the kids in here because they do their stint, pay some dues, and then take off someplace else. I'm waiting for Mossevich over there to pick up one of those cop-beat things he loves writing about in Hawaii or somewhere. Of course, then he'd take his doughnuts with him and Gordy'd starve to death." Christian burst out laughing, and at that precise moment Leslie came through the doorway with a sheaf of papers in one hand. "Well, whaddaya know!" Myeko remarked.


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- January 10, 2002

Her exclamation made Christian straighten up and look around just as Leslie registered his presence, and they both lit up. "What are you doing here, my Rose?" Christian asked curiously, returning her delighted smile.

"I came over to ask Myeko something," Leslie said, glancing at her friend's computer, whose innards Christian had just finished exposing. "Uh-oh…I guess these things are down again." She caught Christian's expression and giggled. "How many this time?"

"All of them," he said, and her giggle turned into a laugh. "I just finished fixing Gordy's, and this one shouldn't take long, if my suspicions about it are correct." He set aside the screwdriver and leaned in toward her to steal a quick kiss. "Is it prying to ask what you want Myeko to do for you?"

"Old hat, my love," Leslie said, slipping her arm around him and addressing Myeko as well. "We've got this fantasy…somebody else who wants to be royalty for a weekend. The difference is, this one might actually be royal in real life. Here, take a look at these." She handed an intrigued Myeko the papers she carried, then turned to fully face Christian and smiled up at him. "Seems your day got off to a rollicking start."

"I suppose you could say that…if I only knew what 'rollicking' means," Christian said with faint puzzlement, and she snickered. They hugged each other close and he kissed the top of her head, then let her go with undisguised reluctance and turned his attention to Myeko's computer. Leaning down to examine the exhaust fan in the back, he prompted his wife, "So are you going to tell me or not?"

"Oh!" Leslie laughed. "It just means really lively. What do you think, Myeko?"

"This," Myeko announced, "is seriously cool. You think this guy really could be royalty? Hey, Christian, maybe you know him."

Christian grunted, amused. "Just because I was born royalty, I know every royal on earth? We're not all bosom buddies, Mrs. Okada." He glanced over his shoulder in time to catch Leslie's grin. "Where's he from, then?"

"He was raised in Greece, but it turns out he has Arcolosian ancestry. He claims to be related to Errico and his brothers. Gordy," Leslie said, attention distracted, "are you busy tomorrow morning? Father sent me here to ask you if you'd mind doing some shots for us. Not only that, but Myeko, he'd like you to check into some archives on the Internet when you get a chance and see if you can dig up any missing-person reports involving the Arcolosian royal family."

"Hey, no problem," Gordy assured her, rising and crossing the room to Myeko's desk. "I hope it's okay if I get a look at those papers."

"Go ahead," Leslie agreed, her hand resting absently on Christian's back as he disconnected some wires and coaxed the exhaust fan loose. "It's this guy's hope just to be accepted by the family, if it turns out he's really related to them. Maybe Arcolos doesn't have the storied history of certain other small monarchies, but I know one thing, they have their share of royal excitement."

"Leslie, my Rose, if you leave that hand where it is, I'll never finish my work," Christian warned humorously, and she gave him a wicked look and threaded her fingers through his hair before withdrawing her hand. He laughed softly and went on, "Even if he really is related to them, I suspect they won't just blithely welcome him in as some long-lost cousin. We never had anyone try to pull that little stunt on us, but then we never had any family members go missing to become 'long-lost'." Christian got the fan loose and straightened, poking at the blades and squinting at the connecting wires. "However, I do seem to remember some story Anna-Laura told once about the lone son of King Erik X nearly being the victim of a Lindbergh-style kidnapping."

"Really?" Leslie asked, wide-eyed. "What happened to him?"

"According to the story, Erik was in what's now the atrium. He saw the kidnappers making their run for it, with the infant prince's nanny in pursuit, and quite calmly took his bow, leaned out a window and shot an arrow into the kidnapper carrying the baby. It was quite enough to foil the attempt." Christian delivered all this with a perfect poker face, still with his main attention on the fan, and looked up only when the silence began to drag out. "What, you don't believe me?"

"I don't think you believe it yourself, my love," Leslie remarked, amused.

"It's a wonder he didn't kill the kid," Gordy observed.

"That's disgusting," Myeko pronounced. "Just really gross, Christian."

Christian shrugged. "It's probably apocryphal. After all, it's the Eriks." He grinned at Leslie, who burst out laughing. Gordy and Myeko looked blankly at each other, and Leslie and Christian, taking note, shared a look of bright-eyed conspiracy before he grew serious and displayed the fan at Myeko. "This is your problem—the fan's stopped working. If there's no way to carry waste heat out of the tower, the computer will simply stop running. When it does stop, of course, the heat isn't generated and the machine cools down enough that it can operate again…so it reboots automatically and runs till too much heat builds up and the process begins again. That's why you've been watching it turn itself on and off."

"Oh," said Myeko. "Do you have a replacement?"

"Yes, by some sheer stroke of luck, I do have one," Christian said. "I'd better call Julianne and tell her to make an order for at least another dozen of these, because the new computers are being made with different designs and soon this model will be obsolete. If the paper doesn't replace these machines, you'll likely be looking for more replacement fans in the future. My Rose, are you due somewhere else, or do you actually have the time to loiter around here and distract me while I'm trying to work?"

Leslie pretended offense. "Are you trying to get rid of me, Christian Enstad?"

"Who, me?" Christian said and grinned again. "I just thought you might get into trouble. I don't care how much you hang around me, I'm happy about it. But since it looks as if you're finding yourself at loose ends, maybe you could make that call to Julianne for me. My hands are full." He was digging in the briefcase again.

"Good Lord, Christian, that's the biggest mess I've ever seen," Leslie said, staring at it in amazement. "And this from the original Neatnik Prince."

Gordy laughed aloud. "You've been busted, Christian."

"Looks that way," Christian said and chuckled, unpacking a replacement fan.

Gordy picked up the papers Leslie had given Myeko and riffled through them, then looked curiously at the Enstads. "Say, Leslie, you figured out yet what you and Christian are doing for your anniversary next week?" he asked idly.

Leslie let out a tiny chuckle. "We had quite a serious discussion last night about our chances of keeping it low-key. It's our first wedding anniversary, and we really thought for a little while that we could get away with making it a private thing, but then we realized we didn't stand a chance. There's no doubt in my mind that someone, somewhere on this island, is planning an overblown foodfest even as I speak."

"That someone being Mariki, the food freak," Christian commented, connecting wires inside Myeko's tower. "Quite strange…she actually stopped nagging us for two weeks, and then yesterday she was back to her old complaints. I had begun to think a small miracle had happened. I should have known better."

"Father probably told her to knock it off," Leslie said, "otherwise she wouldn't have restrained herself nearly that long."

Myeko laughed. "Really, you guys, you can't expect the island to let your anniversary go by without some kind of fanfare. You've been married a year, and it's like a milestone. Can't you just let everybody congratulate you and have a little fun with it? I mean—it's the post-holiday blahs. We're not getting a long weekend till Easter and that's not till March thirty-first. So give us a reason to celebrate."

Christian gave Leslie an ironic look. "So now we're to be a public holiday." Leslie grimaced; Gordy laughed and Myeko rolled her eyes. Christian, shaking his head, started replacing the tower housing. "Oh, to be a nobody."

"Aw, come on, Christian, that's no fun," Gordy said cheerfully. "There have to be somebodies out there, or people like me and Myeko wouldn't have jobs. Well, actually Myeko, not so much me. You're the first really famous person I ever got to photograph."

"Lucky me," said Christian dryly, tightening the final screw. "Well, that's two. Now then, who needs his computer more urgently, Bud or Kevin?"

Bud flapped a hand in Kevin's direction. "Go ahead and take care of his first. My phone's keeping me plenty busy over here."

"Well enough. Look, Gordy, believe me, I'm thrilled for you that you're getting the magazine offers," Christian said as he crossed the room to Kevin's desk, "and it's nothing against you; but to be completely honest, if I never see another celebrity photographer again, I'll die happy. No one has bothered Leslie and me since my brother's funeral last summer, and it's been quite peaceful; I've had to stay on the island since we came back from Lilla Jordsö because I officially lost my citizenship there on August first and won't get Fantasy Island citizenship until next Wednesday. Without a passport I can't take any international trips, even for business. It's turned out to be a blessing in disguise. No demands for interviews, no shutterbugs popping out of the shrubbery to record my face on camera…you can't imagine how wonderful that is, for someone who's had some level of fame all his life as I have. I almost got away with living a very quiet life…and then the arranged-marriage story came out, and that was the end of the anonymous _jordisk_ prince."

"Hey, no problem, Christian," Gordy said, a little surprised at the former prince's long, fairly impassioned narrative, which he had delivered while he took Kevin's computer tower apart. "You know me, I'd never take any pictures of you or Leslie without asking your permission."

Christian looked up for a moment and smiled apologetically. "I was speaking in generalities, Gordy, not necessarily about you. But," he went on, turning back to the tower, "I have to admit that I wonder if that's the kind of thing you really want to do for a living. You can't tell me you haven't heard about celebrity tantrums against persistent paparazzi, and if you want the brutal truth, I was on the celebrities' side."

"I don't blame you," Gordy told him immediately. "Seriously, Christian, I didn't set out with the intention of being a paparazzo. Just wanted to be a regular news photographer and do the whole 'serious journalism' thing. It's just that it's those shots I took of you and Leslie right after your wedding last year that got me all this attention."

Christian was disengaging Kevin's motherboard. "Oh, I know that, and I understand. But I have to tell you that I don't see the connection between getting shots of famous people and forging a career in photographic journalism. Or is that journalistic photography?"

Gordy snickered, struck as he so often was by Christian's sense of humor. "I don't either, but hey, whatever gets my foot in the door. Besides, not all the offers were for jobs taking celeb shots. I might try living in Canada for a while. There were a couple of newspapers up there that made really tempting offers."

"Ah, I see. Well, then, happy choosing." Christian shook his head. "Your motherboard is fine, Kevin. Maybe your problem is your habit of boxing with your computer. Let me see if I can find something out of place in here." He reinstalled the motherboard and squinted into the tower, while Leslie wound up a conversation with Myeko and wandered over to stand beside her husband.

"Boxing with his computer?" she echoed, making Christian look up and laugh.

Kevin grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, well…y'see, Mrs. Enstad, I kinda let it slip that I have to apply my fists a couple times a day to remind it who's boss. Now I think Mr. Enstad's feeling sorry for the stupid thing."

Christian and Leslie both laughed. "My Rose," Christian said, "I think there's a small flashlight in my briefcase…would you look for it for me, please?"

"I'm going to need a guide dog to navigate my way through that mess," Leslie teased him, patting his shoulder. "But I'll give it my best shot." She went back to search through the briefcase, and Christian stood up straight, tipping backward slightly to ease the strain on his back from bending over. He was trying to massage his lower back with his thumbs when she returned with the flashlight; he saw her and froze, staring in disbelief.

"How did you find that so quickly?" he exclaimed.

Leslie grinned. "Pure, unadulterated luck, my love. Are you okay?"

"I'll survive, I've just been leaning over too many computers. Let's see what's in here. I just thought of this, Leslie…when you go back to the main house, you might think about discreetly dropping some questions at Mr. Roarke as to whether he's heard any rumors about turning our anniversary into a bloated party, as they did our wedding reception." Christian aimed the flashlight beam into the tower.

"Do I have to? I'd rather not know, if there really is something in the works," Leslie protested mildly. "That way, if we decide to hide in our own home, we can always say we had no idea what was happening when people yell at us for not showing up."

"Oh, seriously, you can't do that," Gordy blurted. "Look, we could make you a deal. If you let everybody on the island make a big fuss over you this year, then next year we'll leave you completely alone and you can do whatever you want on your second anniversary."

Christian and Leslie eyed him, then each other, then both started to laugh. "I can't decide if I should be tempted by that offer," Christian said.

"Me either," Leslie agreed mirthfully. "Actually, I think it's leading to a plea to be the one who takes pictures of us at whatever overdone party we wind up attending. I mean, no matter what they do, the paper's going to be covering it."

"Well, if you'll let us talk this over," Christian said to Gordy, "we'll give you the verdict later. Let me finish up here, my Rose, and then I can take you back with me. I've already been here nearly two hours, and since I still have one more computer to look at, we may as well make plans to have lunch together."

Leslie nodded agreement and said, "I can go for that. Since you accused me of distracting you earlier, I'll just go bug Myeko for a while and let you get to work."

Gordy ensconced himself back at his desk and brought up his e-mail account while Christian continued to examine Kevin's computer and Leslie chatted with Myeko. He was feeling very good about things right now; it was exciting to think of all the possibilities that had suddenly opened up for him. To his amazement, he found several more offers in his e-mail account, and looked through them with sheer wonder. He'd been a shutterbug since he was old enough to squint through a viewfinder, and now it was a heady feeling to find that his favorite hobby could finally start earning him some serious money. As it happened, while most of the offers stemmed from the pictures he had taken of Christian and Leslie for Myeko's article, there were some that had dug up years-old copies of the _Chronicle_, either online or in archives, and had seen some much older photographs he'd taken for assorted news stories. He even had one offer from France which had stemmed not just from his pictures of the Enstads, but from his photographs of Tattoo's wedding on the island almost nineteen years before.

In all honesty, Gordon Paul Strassner had never been overly ambitious, but he was definitely a dreamer. He was going to be 45 this year and it was a terrific feeling to see those dreams finally beginning to come true. Growing up a military brat, he'd lived in at least fifteen states during his childhood; he'd been born in Klamath Falls, Oregon, just about the time his then-twenty-year-old father had enlisted in the Air Force. Before Gordy's first birthday they'd been stationed in Texas, and from then on had made quite the whirlwind tour of Air Force bases around the country and even beyond it. Gordy had fond memories of his dad's stint in Alaska; it had been a treasure trove of amazing nature shots and had given him a lot of experience in learning to use a camera. When Gordy was fifteen, the Strassners had been transferred to Coral Island AFB and had remained long enough for both Gordy and his younger sister to graduate from Fantasy Island High School. By then he'd seen some opportunities and had been sending pictures in to the island newspaper, a few of which had been published as curiosities in the paper's Humanities section. Tonya, his sister, had just started college on the mainland and Gordy had just been hired onto the paper's staff when his father had been transferred once more; it had felt strange to stay behind, to know where he was going to be for the indefinite future, but it had given him the chance to start making real friends for the first time.

He'd taken any assignment the paper had given him throughout his employment; the paper had a couple of other regular photographers on staff, but Gordy's shots were of a consistent quality and thus he was kept a good bit busier than they were. Since he had started out in Humanities, his desk was in their section, and he liked it there; it was a genial and informal place, and he liked his co-workers. They all knew about his hypoglycemia and teased him relentlessly about it; he took it in the spirit it was intended and always teased them right back about one thing or another. He still remembered the reporter with whom he'd gone to cover Tattoo's wedding; the woman hadn't really understood the nature of his condition, and had been forever saying she wished she had it as well so that she could control her weight. Gordy had taken that in stride too. He'd always been easygoing and accepting, and her comments had just rolled right off him; but he'd had to admit he didn't miss her when she took a different job and moved off-island.

It had been at the wedding that he'd first met Roarke, Tattoo and Leslie in person. It had been clear to him from the outset that all three were quite close; he'd noticed that poor Leslie had been crying her eyes out when Roarke brought her back for the group portrait that the reporter had wanted to headline her story. Two years later he'd photographed Leslie's wedding to Teppo Komainen, and it had been as much of a shock to him as anyone else when she had returned in 1990, newly widowed and needing support in her heavy grief. He'd liked her very much; she had gently teased him at her first wedding about leaving some of the buffet for the other guests, and had even cheerfully agreed to a dance with him during the reception. It was good to see her so happy now with Christian. He thought of her as a friend, and when she had married Christian and he'd started having to come over on a regular basis to effect computer repairs, he'd ventured congratulations to the prince, who had smilingly accepted. Then he'd gone out on a limb and told an anecdote about Leslie at Tattoo's wedding, getting Christian's intrigued attention and making him ask how he knew that; from then on they'd forged a friendship and often chatted whenever Christian came in to keep their aging machines running.

He was printing e-mails when he noticed Christian starting to put Kevin's tower back together. "Find the problem?" he asked.

Christian shook his head. "Everything looks fine. I did nudge a small part back into place, but other than that I couldn't see anything wrong. If you ask me, it's simple old age in this case. Kevin, I'm going to look at Bud's computer…boot yours up and let me know what happens, all right?" The young reporter nodded and watched Christian reattach the housing, then got his computer going while Christian crossed the room to Bud's machine and began tinkering there. In a moment Kevin called out that his machine was working, and Christian nodded with satisfaction.

Myeko looked around Leslie. "Bud and his coffee," she said.

"What?" Christian asked distractedly, twisting screws loose.

"What about my coffee?" Bud growled at her.

"I've heard you complain any number of times about spilling it," Myeko said with a sly grin. "Your computer's probably just burned out from running on caffeine."

Christian stared at her. "I hope you're joking!"

"How would that be possible?" asked Leslie.

Still smirking, Myeko said, "He has a habit of setting his coffee cups on top of the tower. Come on, Bud, 'fess up."

Bud rolled his eyes. "Gads. Don't listen to her, Mr. Enstad, she's a troublemaker. Has been from the get-go." Then he hesitated. "Or is it possible for liquids to seep through the housing and inside the tower?"

Christian gave him a long incredulous stare while Leslie and Myeko sat trying, with only a little success, not to laugh. Finally he said, "Listen, my friend, if there really is coffee in that tower, it's all over. You'll have to hold a funeral." That was enough to make the two women explode with merriment; Gordy and Kevin looked at each other and joined in. Christian, remarkably straight-faced, gave a long-suffering sigh and finished removing the housing while Bud watched with an uneasy look on his face. Everyone looked on, watching Christian pull up a chair that sat near Bud's desk and then stare at something inside the tower. They were so intent on him that when Bud's phone rang, everyone jumped, Christian included. The curse he muttered made them all laugh again, and Bud had to clear his throat loudly before he could pick up the phone.

"So what's the verdict, my love?" Leslie finally asked with interest.

Christian focused on her. "Come over here, my Rose, and look at this." He waited till she had paused beside his chair; then he looked at her and said with all apparent seriousness, "If this ever happens to any computer you come in contact with, don't expect me to come and resuscitate it."

She leaned over, peered into Bud's tower, and then looked at Christian. "If this ever happens to any computer I come in contact with, you'd better find another scapegoat—you know I don't drink coffee." That made Christian thump his elbow on Bud's desk and drop his chin into his hand with an _I give up_ expression; his wife burst out laughing. "Seriously, my love, is there anything you can do for the patient?"

Christian made a noise in the back of his throat and shrugged. "It's as Myeko said: this thing has essentially overdosed on caffeine. I've never seen anything like this before. Wasn't he threatening Kevin about equipment liability? I'm afraid it's his paycheck that's going to be garnished for damages instead. I could clean this thing out, but I'd have to charge extra, and I couldn't guarantee it would work again. How many cups of coffee does he spill each day, Myeko?"

Myeko was weak with laughter by now. "He drinks coffee almost as much as Gordy eats. I'd say he knocks his cup over at least a couple times a week. Most of the time it's close to empty by then, but yesterday he tipped over a full one. Which was sad, since that was one of the few times the pot was working right and the coffee was actually good."

This time even Christian laughed, examining the small dark pool that lay in the bottom of the tower. "Maybe there's some hope. It doesn't seem to have actually destroyed anything, which is very fortunate. I hope someone's got napkins."

Kevin promptly yanked open a drawer and brought him a small stack. "Help yourself, Mr. Enstad. Holy smoke, willya look at that!" This earned him a very dirty look from Bud that sent him backing off toward his desk with his hands in the air; Christian, shaking his head yet again, began gingerly mopping up whatever was still in liquid state and asked Leslie to bring him the briefcase again. It took him another fifteen minutes to clean out the tower to his satisfaction and check over the components before replacing the housing and watching Bud's machine come back to life.

"That's it, I think," he said, putting tools back in the briefcase and scraping loose papers into it so he could close it. "Although if your computer is sluggish, Bud, you're just going to have to break it of its caffeine habit cold turkey." Amid the laughter and Bud's groan, he grinned and stood up, sliding his arm around Leslie. "Are you ready, then?"

"Just waiting for you," she said and smiled. "Myeko, if you dig up anything, just send us an e-mail. Father'll do whatever's required after that." Myeko nodded, and Christian and Leslie bid everyone goodbye and departed together.

They strolled down the quiet hallway and looked at each other. "Do you think we could get away with going somewhere other than the main house for lunch?" Christian asked thoughtfully. "Perhaps the café? Maybe even home…?"

Leslie regarded him with interest. "How long a lunch hour are you thinking of taking? Father did tell me to take as long as I needed, and I have only one more thing to do before I go pick up the mail and sort it out. You look exhausted already, my darling."

"I am," he admitted with a sigh and closed his eyes for a moment. "Usually I have to attend to only one machine at a time. How they managed to coordinate their computer woes like that simply escapes me."

Leslie considered it, then smiled and suggested, "What if we arrange for the afternoon off? We're going to have a busy weekend; we've worked steady five-day workweeks since we came back from Lilla Jordsö last summer; and we haven't even scheduled our next vacation yet. Father mentioned how slow today was going to be when I got in this morning, and it shouldn't be a problem for you, since you're the boss."

"Yeah, Boss Prince, to be exact," said Christian with weary humor, and she grinned. "I like the idea very much. We'll stop at my office, then let Mr. Roarke know, and if he doesn't mind, then the day is ours." The prospect made them smile at each other with anticipation, and forgetting where they were, they paused in the parking lot and kissed.

"You two are just begging for exposure," said someone, and they broke to see Gordy approaching them with a paper in his hand. "You dropped this on the way out, Christian, and I thought you might need it."

Leslie started to laugh. "Now I know how we're spending the day, my love—cleaning out that briefcase!"

"Not before I clean your clock, Leslie Enstad, if you don't stop," Christian shot back, but he was grinning. He accepted the page from Gordy and tossed him the tail end of the grin. "Thanks, friend. Have a good day, and make sure Bud stops feeding his tower that sludge he passes off for coffee." Gordy roared with laughter and watched them settle into the car and drive away.


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- January 10, 2002

He was still going over the various offers when he got home from work that day and thudded onto his creaking old sofa. He lived in a small apartment complex about a mile down the Ring Road from the newspaper building, and got back and forth on a bike. He did have a driver's license, but had occasion to use it only whenever he visited his parents or his sister and her family. He liked driving, but he was just as happy not to own a car; his brother-in-law complained a lot about the cost of car insurance, particularly with a son soon to turn sixteen. Gordy simply figured that was just more money at his disposal for food; he had to keep his kitchen well-stocked on account of his disorder, and had even taken enough cooking classes to make his meals interesting and healthful.

The same broken spring twanged under him as he shifted and relaxed on the couch, and he grinned wryly to himself. Maybe he could finally go out and get some new furniture. He went through the e-mailed offers again—five of them or so—and then examined the ones that had been sent via regular mail. There were another four of these and he'd managed to read only two of them; now he picked up one of the envelopes and took it into the kitchen with him to look at while he figured out what to make for supper. For some reason he was in the mood for chicken cacciatore, and had actually managed to remember to set aside some chicken to thaw before heading for work that morning. He started getting out ingredients, reading the letter as he did so. After a moment he stopped and stared in amazement.

"They gotta be kidding," he breathed aloud. "Five hundred grand if I can get them some current shots of Christian?" He could buy a house with that kind of money. All kinds of visions danced through his head; then he thought better of it and reread the passage again. It sounded too good to be true somehow. The name of the magazine was at the top of its company letterhead in bold red block letters; their operations were in New York City and, as the letter subsequently stated, they had just started operations. That explained why he'd never heard of them, he supposed. He wondered if the bookstore in town carried it. Then he wondered why they wanted pictures of Christian.

There was a phone number on the page, and he tried to remember what time it was in New York. If his calculations weren't off, they were seven hours ahead; it would be the middle of the night there right now. "Nuts," he muttered. He'd really wanted to get to the bottom of this, find out if they were legit and why they were interested specifically in Christian. It was always possible that they knew his and Leslie's anniversary was coming up and wanted to highlight the celebration. Gordy grinned to himself; he and everybody else knew there was going to be one, no matter how much Christian and Leslie protested. It was likely that even Roarke wouldn't bother stopping the plans; he hadn't put the kibosh on the record-setting party that had been thrown on Christian and Leslie's wedding day. If the anniversary celebration was anything remotely similar, he expected that a movement would spring up to make every January 16 an official island holiday. _And wouldn't Christian and Leslie just hate that,_ he thought with a grin. He reread the letter several times, then shrugged to himself and decided he'd just have to check it out. To that end, he headed out the door with his bike and rode back into town to check the bookstore.

"Never heard of that one," the cashier said when he showed her the letterhead. "I can ask the manager though…hold on a minute." Gordy nodded and waited patiently, scanning the new titles on display.

The cashier returned and said, "He says we're gonna carry it, but the first issue hasn't come out yet, I guess. We're expecting it by next week."

"Gotcha," Gordy said. "Thanks for the info." It wasn't much, but for now it was all he had. He rode back home and finally got around to whipping up the chicken cacciatore, which he proceeded to enjoy at leisure while reading the last offer and considering what he was going to do.

But his eyes kept going back to that five-hundred-thousand-dollar offer. _Just for pictures of Christian? And they're brand-new? Wonder if they've got a website?_ He shoveled in a last bite and went over to his computer in the corner, booting it up and then getting online while he filled his plate again. There was indeed a site; it bore an image of the cover of the inaugural issue, and he had to admit he was impressed. It looked like a good-quality glossy magazine; the cover blurbs didn't scream their messages in two-inch-high letters, and it was plain someone had done careful design work on it. _Somebody rich must own this thing,_ he thought. _If it's a conglomerate, then that's great—somebody established and legit that already runs a bunch of well-known publications. If it's not…but hey, you gotta start somewhere._ He really didn't know why he was feeling so suspicious; it must be the incredible amount of money they were offering, and the specific request that Christian be the subject. Of course, Christian was the only celebrity on the island, and he'd already had photos of him published… _But geez, are they that desperate, to offer that much money? I suppose it makes some sense. Christian's actively ducked the spotlight all he possibly can since some lackey at the castle spilled the beans about his arranged marriage. He does his best to lie low, and that'd make photo ops scarcer, so they know they'll have to cough up big bucks to make any photographer intrepid enough to try breaching his privacy._

_Thing is…I don't have to sneak around. I'm friends with Christian and Leslie, right? All I gotta do is call them up and ask. If they know I'm doing it, then it'll be all right. And for that much cash…man, I could pay some debts, get some new stuff…this thing could be my big breakthrough, a huge boost for my career._ He grinned wryly. _Such as it is!_

Once more Gordy studied the image of the magazine on the site, navigated the other pages to check out names of staff, features of the publication and other pertinent information, and finally decided it might be worth taking the chance. He set his plate aside for a moment, picked up the phone and punched out 695 with the handle of his fork.

The machine kicked in at the Enstad house after four rings, and Gordy leaned back in his chair with surprise. But before he had the chance to leave a message, someone finally picked up, and a slightly breathless voice said, "Hello?"

"Hi, Leslie, it's Gordy…you and Christian must've been outside or something, huh? You sound out of breath," he said.

"Well…" Leslie paused, and in the background Gordy heard a deeper voice muttering something he couldn't make out. "Oh, Christian, it's just Gordy," she said before coming back on. "Sorry, Gordy. What's up?"

Gordy eyed the plate and wondered if he could balance it on his knees while he talked; he was still hungry. "I was just curious if you and Christian had a chance to talk over letting me take shots of you guys at your anniversary party," he said.

"How do you know there's going to be one?" Leslie asked, then amended, "Or maybe I should better ask, what makes you think we're going to be there?"

"Because you'll get lynched if you aren't," Gordy said, grinning.

"Geez," Leslie said, but laughed reluctantly. "You're probably right, that's the worst of it. No, we really haven't had a chance to talk about it…but hold on a minute." He agreed, and heard her set the phone down; then there were muffled voices for a few minutes before Christian's voice took over.

"You must know something we don't," he remarked by way of greeting. "Whatever details you have, spill them right now, Strassner. Where's the party, so we know where we shouldn't be next Wednesday?"

Gordy laughed. "Cripes, Christian, do you really have to be such a party pooper? I know you guys want to be alone, but I'm sure you'll have your chance. It won't last all day and all night, I'm sure."

"I'm not," Christian countered. "What I _am_ sure of is that, if it's anything like our wedding reception was, it will begin in the evening when we'll most want to be at home by ourselves. I've had something in mind for this anniversary for a few days, and it's my biggest fear at the moment that this damned party will spoil it completely. If I want to see my second wedding anniversary, I'd better make the first one something special."

"You rogue," Gordy heard Leslie say laughingly in the background.

"I'm still incorrigible," Christian said off the line, and Leslie laughed again. Then he said, "Look, Gordy, if there absolutely must be a party, can't you spread the word to have it during the day and make sure it ends by, oh…three o'clock, perhaps? If you need an excuse, tell everyone it's so people can bring their children and not have to stay out late."

Gordy protested, "Hey, since when was I in charge of this thing?"

"Since you decided you wanted to take photos of us in attendance," Christian parried easily. "If you're not, then find out who is and pass the word. My bet is, it's Mariki. She was the mastermind behind that world-record party at our wedding."

"Right," Gordy said. "Well, okay, I guess I can do it…but if I do, you gotta let me take those pictures. These things could be syndicated to other magazines that want to make note of your first anniversary, and I could make a nice chunk of change here. It doesn't have to be an interview or anything. The mags can write their own text and all you have to do is smile for my Nikon. Besides, if you drop a word or two at Mr. Roarke, he'll see to it that it's just me. What say?"

Christian sighed gustily on the other end. "I must be too tired to think straight, because that actually sounds tempting." He muttered something in what must have been his own tongue, then said, "Let me explain to Leslie and see what she thinks." Gordy agreed and listened to Christian's muffled voice relaying their conversation to Leslie. After a few seconds she responded; then there was a protracted moment of silence before he heard some thumping noises and then Christian's voice again, sounding distracted. "She said it's all right with her…but it has to be done during the day."

"During the day, got it," Gordy said. "I'll get the word out. Hey, Christian, thanks, and tell Leslie thanks too. I really appreciate it."

"Hmmmmm…sure," Christian mumbled. "Uh, good night." The connection was cut before Gordy could respond; he had to laugh. Those two had his sister Tonya's beloved sappy romance novels beat by miles. That was okay; he was going to make sure he got the best possible pictures of them.

In the Enstads' living room, Leslie gave Christian an odd look. "You were a little abrupt there, weren't you, my love?"

"I was busy," Christian retorted, "and you were too, before the phone rang. I was just starting to relax. Now do you see why I don't want an extension in the bedroom?"

Leslie had to laugh. "You'll never stop being incorrigible, will you? Come on, for heaven's sake, lie down here and let me give you that back rub I promised you at lunch, before those goons at the pineapple plantation ruined our afternoon off."

"I'd rather go back to kissing you," Christian said suggestively, moving in on her again. "I was really enjoying myself there…"

"You kept forgetting you had poor Gordy on the phone," Leslie said, giggling. "You really surprise me, turning down a back rub after the day you had. First the newspaper, then the plantation…I bet the next ship out has on board about fifty guys who were plantation employees this morning. That's going to be some expense for them, replacing an entire dozen computers. I've never seen a brawl like that."

"You shouldn't have been there at all," Christian grumbled. "I don't care if you did drive me there. I thought any minute one of those monitors or towers was going to hit you. I'm still amazed I got out undamaged. Is that a normal occurrence down there?"

"Well, that one was of a bigger magnitude than most, but they have the worst turnover of any employer on the island, and Father long since gave up trying to keep track of how many times a month the police get called down there. Honestly, all that because the overseer told you to remove all the games from all the computers…oh, Christian…"

"You were saying something?" he murmured against her skin, his head just under her chin as he trailed kisses across her throat.

She grinned and kissed the top of his head. "Do you want a back rub or not?"

Christian stopped and looked up. "Do I feel that tense to you?"

"Yup." Leslie smiled and smoothed his hair. "I think you're the only person I know who'd turn down a back rub. Face it, my love, you had a long day."

"I did at that," Christian conceded wearily. "All right, then, but I might fall asleep on the floor, and that wasn't my intention." He gave her a meaningful look.

"Oh, don't worry," Leslie assured him, planting a soft kiss on his lips. "If you do, I'll wake you up. I'm not missing out on those kisses of yours…you can still unhinge my mind with them. You always could."

"Even the very first time?" Christian asked with interest, stretching out on his stomach on the quilt she had laid out on the carpet.

"Well…I think it might've been the Dom Perignon that time," she said and snickered.

"You little tease," he growled playfully at her, half sitting up.

She laughed and gently pushed him back down, straddling him and beginning to massage with both hands. "Quite honestly, my darling, if I hadn't wanted to be kissed, no amount of wine would've changed my mind. As soon as your lips touched mine, I was a goner. And you know what? That's the very second I started falling in love with you."

"They always said I was very good at kissing," murmured Christian.

"Who did?" Leslie asked, kneading his shoulders.

"My old girlfriends," came the drowsy reply, laced with a touch of wicked teasing that earned him a sharp pinch. _"Aj, du slår mej!_ That hurt!" he exclaimed, laughing.

"That's what you get for trying to make me jealous, Christian Enstad," she shot back, grinning. "Knock it off before I do something you'll regret. You didn't kiss all those women, now, did you?"

She caught his sidelong glance and smirk before he closed his eyes again. "I knew you couldn't resist asking…" Her menacing growl made him laugh again. "If you really have to know, it was only Ingela and Karin. Remember what I told you last summer, what no one else on earth knows? They were the only ones I was ever that serious with, however briefly. You're my third, and you're the very last—and the most important—so I don't want to hear any more about jealousy. Now where's that back rub you insisted on giving me? Get on with it, or I won't give you any more of those kisses."

"Yes, you will. I have ways of persuading you," Leslie said with a slow smile. "You be quiet and enjoy this, now." He smiled back and let himself relax under her hands.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- January 16, 2002

The special anniversary luau turned out to be a fairly small gathering after all; and Christian and Leslie were there in spite of themselves, and even enjoying it. Someone had gone to the trouble of hiring both a DJ and the plane-dock band—the latter for languid Hawaiian mood music—and there was no end of dancing. Christian and Leslie's friends had bestowed sentimental cards on them, along with small gifts, primarily gift cards to dinners out at assorted restaurants in Hawaii. Christian had laughed: "When do you think we're ever going to get to Hawaii?" he'd asked facetiously. "There's been such an epidemic of computer troubles on this island lately, I don't see how I can ever escape." There'd been a good bit of teasing about that as well, and they had all truly enjoyed themselves.

Gordy had been around now and then, shooting pictures at random moments and, of course, helping himself liberally to the generous buffet. "We told them to make fifteen percent extra food on account of you," Leslie had teased him, making him laugh, especially when Christian had discovered strawberries in his fruit salad and offered them to Gordy.

At about six o'clock, Roarke arose and went to the slightly raised platform that had been set up for the plane-dock band, who at the moment were taking a break. "May I please have your attention?" he said, and the gathering quieted. "Christian and Leslie, if you two will kindly come up here…"

They looked at each other. "More accolades?" Christian kidded. "We're getting some sort of medal or something, is that it? Do I have to make a speech?"

"You might," Roarke teased him back, and everyone laughed. "Actually, Christian, this is something far more valuable. First of all, if you will sign this…" He handed Christian a clipboard and a pen; Christian skimmed the document on the board, then stilled and read it again, more carefully.

"You didn't," he said, his eyes widening. "Mr. Roarke, I had all but forgotten!"

"You're fortunate that I didn't," Roarke said humorously. "As soon as you've signed that, you will be officially and legally a citizen of Fantasy Island." Their guests cheered and applauded; Christian's infectious grin broke out and he started to turn red.

Then Leslie reminded him jokingly, "Just don't forget to leave out the 'HKH' part before you sign, my love." Roarke chuckled.

"Have I really been married to this impossible tease for an entire year?" Christian said with an exaggerated eye-roll, precipitating more laughter. "The worst of that is, it's probably a good thing she reminded me." He promptly signed his name to the citizenship document and said, "You see, all I wrote was _Christian Carl Tobias Enstad_. What if I'd still forgotten and styled myself as 'his royal highness'? Would that have voided the form?"

"Oh, it's possible," Roarke said, straight-faced, "as there's no royalty here. It's a good thing your title was revoked several months ago, or there might have been a problem."

"You could have always inserted 'formerly' in front of the 'royal highness' part, Father," Leslie remarked, equally poker-faced, and Christian gave her a look that made their audience break into laughter again. Leslie giggled, then gave him a congratulatory kiss that drew whoops and whistles from the gathering and made Roarke smile indulgently.

"I'm not quite finished," he observed when Leslie and Christian broke apart, "so don't go anywhere just yet. I had a little help with this one." He reached into his suit jacket and took out a booklet with a white cover; Leslie lit as she recognized it for what it was. Roarke caught her look and winked at her before presenting it to Christian. "Your passport." The word was stamped in silver on the front of the booklet.

"Ah, free to breach the borders at last," said Christian, chuckling and opening it, then doing a double-take at the photo inside. "Now how did you do this? This must have been taken just today!"

"That was me," Gordy said from a few feet away. "I just ducked out for about an hour to develop some of the earlier shots I took of you two, and then I did some cut-and-paste work and a little retouching, and gave the results to Mr. Roarke so he could make up the passport as a surprise gift."

"I'm impressed," Christian said and grinned. "Nice work, friend." Gordy grinned back, and Christian showed Leslie the picture while Gordy, prompted by a growling stomach, gravitated over to the buffet again.

A little more than an hour later, Christian and Leslie decided it was time for them to make their escape; amid protests from their friends, they gathered their anniversary cards and gifts and Christian's new passport. Gordy saw them and shook his head. "What's the story here? There's still plenty of food left."

"There is?" Leslie said, pretending shock.

"All the more for you to eat, then," Christian put in. "We've spent a perfectly respectable amount of time here…over three hours, you know, especially since we both had to work today. Before the remaining hours disappear and my wife accuses me of being late, I want to give her something special—and I can't do that here."

"No, you just _won't_ do it here," Camille kidded him, and he laughed.

"Well, you might be right about that. Don't worry, Leslie will give all you women the details tomorrow, I'm sure. But if we don't get out of here now, there'll be nothing for her to give you details about, so we bid all of you good evening and many, many thanks for all the wonderful wishes, cards and gifts." Christian smiled at the assorted acknowledgements, and found himself shaking hands with the men while the women hugged Leslie one by one.

Gordy was last to shake Christian's hand, saying, "Well, then, happy whatever's left of your anniversary. You guys really deserve it."

Christian regarded him curiously, since Leslie was still returning her friends' hugs. "Have you ever thought of marrying, Gordy?"

"Aw, cripes," Gordy said, grinning. "I see enough of marriage whenever I visit my sister. I'm a confirmed bachelor, that's all there is to it."

"Oh, don't dismiss it so quickly," Christian said wickedly. "You just haven't found the right woman yet. I didn't find her till I was in my late thirties, and then had to wait almost five more years for her. But she's been worth every moment. Think about it…you should try it sometime!" He laughed heartily at Gordy's teasing groan and thanked him, then turned to see Leslie still hugging her friends. "Good grief, my Rose, what takes a hug so long?"

"Oh, wait your turn," Leslie scolded fondly, winking at him. She gave Maureen a last squeeze and surveyed the other girls with a misty little smile. "This has been so beautiful. I'm glad you were all here with us for this."

"Like Gordy said, you deserve it," Lauren told her. "Go enjoy your evening, huh?"

"Yeah, and don't forget, Jimmy and I are expecting something for our anniversary next month," Camille put in with a teasing smirk. "We want one of these overblown luaus too."

"Oh really? Well, that gives me all sorts of time to come up with some embarrassing anecdotes about you," Leslie said, touching off laughter. "We'll just dedicate one of the Saturday-night luaus to you two and let all the guests hear the stories."

Camille narrowed her eyes. "Look out, Leslie, that might be a punishable offense."

"You'd better go before she thinks of said punishment," Myeko suggested, grinning. "Have a great night, you two. We'll just sit here and wait till Gordy's been around the buffet again so we can get a crack at his leftovers." More laughter rang out, and Christian and Leslie finally took their leave, with Gordy a few paces behind.

"Going home as well?" Christian asked.

"Yeah, I figured I oughta leave some eats for the rest of them," Gordy said good-naturedly. "Thanks for letting me take the pictures. You'll see them in tomorrow's paper if you want to keep souvenirs."

"For the scrapbook your sister and nieces gave you last summer," Leslie said.

Christian groaned playfully. "That thing! Don't drag it out tonight, my Rose, or you'll forfeit your anniversary gift. Good night, Gordy, and take care."

"Good night," Leslie called, casting Gordy a smile over Christian's shoulder before ambling along at his side to their car. Gordy waved at them and hopped onto his bike for the ride home. "So," Leslie went on, gazing up at her husband, "do you feel like you belong somewhere finally, now that you're officially a citizen? No more man-without-a-country stuff." Then she grinned and added impishly, "Welcome to Fantasy Island."

Christian burst out laughing. "Oh, come on, let's get home."

Just as they reached the car, Roarke caught up with them. "I see you've succeeded in making your getaway after all," he remarked humorously. "I merely wished to offer you both my congratulations. Your first year of marriage has been very eventful indeed."

"That it has," Christian agreed.

"Maybe it'll be a little quieter now that we're starting year two," Leslie said, met her father's gaze and continued dryly, "but I doubt it." They all laughed, perhaps just a touch ruefully, and then she pulled away from Christian long enough to hug Roarke. "The citizenship papers and the passport were the perfect touch…it made our showing up here worth the effort. Thank you for everything, Father."

"I'm very grateful to you, Mr. Roarke," Christian added, watching them.

Roarke regarded him. "It seems little enough for the happiness you've given my daughter, Christian. And you deserve the same happiness." Christian ducked his head, a sheepish smile on his face, and Roarke grasped his shoulder for a moment. "Have a good night, both of you, and Leslie, I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Not too early, I hope," Leslie said. "Christian's been implying there's something big waiting for me at home, and I'm dying to see what it is. If it's that big, I might find myself having to catch up on some sleep."

"You think so, do you, then?" Christian said with a mysterious look. "If we are ever allowed to go home, you'll find out. Once again, Mr. Roarke, thank you…and whoever put this party together deserves thanks as well."

Roarke smiled. "I'll pass the word." He waited till they'd gotten into the car and driven away before returning to the gathering for a little while longer.

Christian, at the wheel, had learned his way around the island by now and knew the byways just about as well as Leslie did; now he took a back route to shorten their drive to the Enclave and reached out to wrap Leslie's hand in one of his. "So, my Rose, tell me what you're feeling right now."

"What I've been feeling almost ever since I met you," she told him, drawing his hand over into her lap and holding it with both of hers, slowly stroking his fingers, then looking at him with sparkling eyes. "Madly, hopelessly, permanently in love with you."

Christian stopped the car, parked it there in the road and turned to her, his own eyes glittering. "You won't sleep much this night if you keep talking like that, you know. We may not even get home." He proceeded to make that threat all but real when he pulled her toward him and kissed her enough to leave her completely senseless.

"Why are you stopping?" she moaned when he pulled back.

"Because we're sitting in the middle of the road, my darling," he said softly, a grin spreading across his face. "Try to have some patience till we're home and I can show you what I did for you. Believe me, it's all I myself can do to stop, but one of us has to have some self-control." He kissed her once more, quickly, then got them back on their way.

It took them about five times as long to get through the front door as usual because they kept stealing kisses all the way there; when they got in, Christian closed the door, turned with her in his arms and pressed her back against it. "Now, this morning, my Leslie Rose, you spoiled me rotten. Breakfast in bed, playing maidservant, even dressing in that silly French-maid costume that made me wish we'd both taken the day off from work…I had only a taste of you then. Now it's going to be different. I think you'd say that the shoe is on the other foot, wouldn't you? I'm going to pamper you now, and we'll have much, much more than just a taste of each other. And we'll start with this." He brought her into the kitchen, where he turned on the light and revealed a small plate full of chocolates, elegantly arranged on lacy doilies in three concentric circles.

"Oh my," Leslie murmured, surveying them. "Dark chocolate, my favorite."

"Handmade," Christian said, catching her surprised attention. "We'll both have to thank Mariki tomorrow at lunch. Mr. Roarke let me borrow her and two of her staff; she provided these, and her staff—" That mysterious smile returned. "Well, they did the rest, which you'll see in a moment if you let me indulge you. You carry that plate…" She picked it up, and then to her astonishment, he lifted her. "…and I'll carry you."

"I hate suspense," Leslie said, evoking a huff of laughter from him. "I want to know."

"You'll see," he told her smugly, deftly handling the delicate operation of carrying her up the spiral staircase to the second floor. Once up there, he brought her as far as the middle of the bedroom before setting her back on her feet, then smiled. "Now I want you to close your eyes, and trust me completely, if you dare."

"Tell me," she said again, but Christian shook his head, grinning.

"Close your eyes, Leslie Rose," he said in a soft singsong.

"You're a sadist," she muttered good-naturedly. "Okay, I'll do it, just because I'm sick of being kept waiting." She closed her eyes and felt him take the plate from her hand, heard him set it down somewhere. Then he turned her around and gently pushed her ahead of him. "Tell me, Christian…"

His reply was a kiss on the side of her neck. "You'd better have your eyes closed," he warned, a grin in his voice.

"They're closed, they're closed," she grumbled, giggling a little. "Hurry up!"

"Stop," he said, and she did; again he turned her around, then released her.

"Can I look now?" she persisted hopefully.

"No peeking!" Christian said with cheerful sternness. "Just wait another moment and you can look all you like, but I won't have you spoiling my surprise. Stand still." She waited, listening to his footsteps on the carpet, the sound of something ceramic landing on a hard surface, the rasp of a drawer opening and closing, an odd clicking noise.

"Christian…" she said, half warning, half pleading.

"Not yet," came his voice. "I'm almost finished. Well, maybe not." Her frustrated groan got her another laugh from him. "There, that's that…" A drawer opened and closed again; after another two seconds she felt him grasp her shirt and lift it. "Arms up."

"I'm going to peek," she threatened through a laugh.

"Don't you dare," he shot back, also laughing. "Stop complaining and do as I tell you, and you'll see it that much the sooner." She raised her arms and he removed her shirt; as she stood trying to battle her impatience, he proceeded to completely strip her.

"What's going on?" she demanded.

"Count off fifteen seconds," he said. "Out loud."

"This is getting weird," she remarked, but obliged him; she thought she sensed hasty movement in him, and she definitely heard the sound of cloth rustling. Finally she said with a triumphant note in her voice, "Fifteen! Now can I look?"

"Now you can look," he said, and she immediately opened her eyes. Like her, he stood there before her without a stitch on; his clothes lay pooled at his feet, and he was smiling.

"You won't think it so strange when you turn around," he said. Her eyes went wide; then she whirled and froze with a gasp. The tub—a large one that could easily hold two, as had the one in their honeymoon cottage—was full of water and mountains of bubbles, and it was surrounded by at least two dozen candles, all lit. The plate of chocolates rested beside two stemmed glasses and a bucket holding a bottle of champagne buried in ice.

Leslie stared at it, taking it all in with wonder; then she turned to gape at Christian, whose eyes were bright with merriment. "How did you do all this?"

"Those two staff of Mariki's," he said. "I had to time this just right so that water would still be hot. They left the candles; I merely lit them all. That bath is primarily for you, but it's my hope you'll let me share it with you."

"It wouldn't be any fun without you," she said softly, and he grinned at that; together they climbed into the tub and settled down, then smiled at each other.

"Champagne?" Christian offered.

"How decadent," Leslie said, laughing, then sat up. "Oh geez, I just remembered. That cork's gonna pop…!" She lifted her hands out of the bath water with a splash and clapped them over her ears, making Christian fall back against the side of the tub with helpless laughter before he gathered himself together and started working the cork out. He'd dislodged it a bit more than halfway when it suddenly sprang out of the bottle on its own with a loud pop and sailed all the way across the bathroom and through the doorway into the bedroom. It made him flinch, and Leslie wilted with laughter. Christian joined in with good nature, filling each glass halfway and handing her one. Slowly their mirth died out and they looked at each other for a second or two, then clinked their glasses together, toasted each other and their anniversary, and drank.

For the first ten minutes or so they just drank champagne, fed each other chocolates and basked in the romantic atmosphere; then Christian set his glass aside, removed hers from her hand and put it beside his, and shifted around so that he sat directly beside her. Under the water his hands started to roam her body. "Did you ever try this before?" he murmured, his lips brushing her cheek.

"Never," she said, closing her eyes. "Did you?"

"It's a first for me too," he breathed. "Maybe that's why it's making me so crazy for you." He cradled her with one arm and kissed her, still stroking with the other hand. She reached for him beneath the water and returned the favor.

When he eventually lifted her and joined her to him, they were both operating purely on instinct; their senses were filled with each other, their minds closed down, their combined focus on the moment. Yet they moved in slow motion, savoring every tiny bit of contact, eyes solely on each other, hands in each other's hair. It seemed forever, but just a moment, till the rich cascade of sensation caught up with Leslie and her eyes slid shut, her back arched inward and she cried out, "Chris…ti…_aaaaaan!"_

And as it never failed to do, her peak brought on his own. For the first time he cried out her name as well, fists closing around her hair, his voice straining. _"Leslie—!"_

It was a long time before they came back to earth, and they realized then that the water was cooling and they were feeling soaked through to the bone. Christian kissed her at leisure, then combed his fingers through her hair and asked, "Are you ready to get out?"

She smiled dreamily. "Are we going to bed now?"

"Yes, my Leslie Rose," he said, laughing softly, "we are. But not quite like this. Let's get out, and then we'll dry off, and then…oh, then." His slow smile told her the rest.


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- January 28, 2002

"Aw, man, it's Monday again," Gordy grumbled good-naturedly, thumping into his chair and waking his computer. "Hey, Kev, how was your weekend? Morning, Bud, Myeko, how's life? Anybody got any doughnuts?"

No one replied for long enough that Gordy paused and looked curiously around; an odd, uneasy feeling snaked through him when he saw Kevin's and Bud's expressions of what looked like revulsion. Myeko's was nothing short of furious loathing. He stared at them in astonishment. "What'd I do?"

"Don't give me that, Strassner," Kevin said, rolling his eyes. "What a jerk." Gordy stared at him, completely uncomprehending. When he looked at Bud, Bud just shook his head and turned away.

"Guys, seriously, come on—what's going on? I don't get it," Gordy insisted.

Myeko scowled and arose, glaring at him. "Yeah, sure you don't," she retorted, her eyes blazing with rage. "Tell me another one."

"Humor me," Gordy suggested with some sarcasm. "Pretend I'm stupid."

"I don't have to pretend," Myeko shot back. "But since you insist on playing dumb, then fine. Here, take a look at what you did." She threw a magazine onto his desk and waited there, watching for his reaction.

Gordy recognized it as the new magazine that had offered so much money for his pictures of Christian. Everything in him seemed to turn to ice as he took in the front cover. It was equally divided between a picture of a singer he'd never heard of, Astrid Franzén, and one of his own shots of Christian. Overlaying it was the headline in bright yellow block letters: "SINGER WHO ONCE DATED PRINCE HAS HIV VIRUS: DOES PRINCE?" Gordy lurched forward in his chair and gulped loudly, fighting back a surge of nausea. Then he cursed loudly. "Who the hell did this?"

"You did," Myeko snapped. "You sold out my friends, Gordy Strassner!"

"I never—!" Gordy began, then stopped himself. Even he could see at a glance that no amount of protesting his innocence would do him any good. He shook his head helplessly, staring in disbelief at the lurid headline. "I'm gonna kill them," he muttered. "They said it was gonna be for an anniversary piece. They told me…" He cursed again and dropped his head into his hands. "They lied to me."

"Huh, at least you admit they're your pictures," Kevin remarked sarcastically from beside him. "It's not like you could've denied it anyway. Your name's on every one of them as the photographer. How much they pay you for those shots?"

Gordy didn't bother to reply. He could only gape at that cover and shake his head in disbelief, as if hoping it would all somehow go away. After a moment he looked up and saw Myeko's enraged glare, Kevin's disgusted look, and even Bud's disappointed expression.

"Go on home, Strassner," Bud said as if very tired, through a sigh. "I don't think you have to worry too much about missing a day's pay, not with what I bet they gave you for those pictures. And if you think you're unpopular now, wait till the Enstads see that."

"They've gotta know I wouldn't do that to them," Gordy insisted.

"Why should they?" Myeko demanded. "They have no more reason to believe you than we do. Even less really, especially Christian, because he's the focus of the thing. Get out of here, you lowlife, and while you're at it, read the article you so blithely sold your pictures for and see just what you really did to Christian and Leslie!"

Bud gestured at the door when Gordy looked at him. "Go on, beat it."

Gordy gathered up his things, picked up the mail that sat on his desk and added the magazine to it, then slowly left, his head spinning. It became apparent within seconds that everyone in the building knew what had happened; several passing staffers in the main hall gave him scathing looks as he left. He wondered what he was going to do about it. Rolling up the mail and the magazine and stuffing it into the saddlebag attached to his bike, he slowly pedaled back toward home, a queasy feeling in his gut. Who else knew? He really dreaded Christian and Leslie's finding out about it; and there was no question that they would somewhere along the line. Their friends and Roarke would try to protect them, but somebody was going to make a point of bringing it to their attention sooner or later, he knew. People could be cruel that way.

It was right about then, actually, that Christian arrived at the main house to pick up Leslie from the plane dock and start their weekend; as yet unaware of the brewing storm, he got out of the car and strolled at leisure down the lane and into the yard beside the main house. A few natives passing over the green caught sight of him, looked at one another and seemed to pick up their pace on their way elsewhere. Christian watched curiously, wondering what their problem was and then shrugging to himself. A few minutes later he heard the sound of an approaching car and headed back to the lane, brightening when Roarke brought the car to a stop and Leslie jumped out to hug him. "Hi, my love!"

"Hello, my Rose," he said cheerfully, hugging her back. "All's well that ends well for another weekend, then?"

"As usual," Roarke said with a smile. At the same moment another group of natives came along the lane, gave Christian and Leslie odd looks and then moved along; all three of them noticed the look and stared in amazement.

"What was that all about?" Leslie asked.

Roarke frowned. "I don't know. One moment, all of you," he called out after the departing natives, who stopped in the lane and turned, their expressions growing suddenly uneasy. "Is there something wrong?"

"You haven't seen it, Mr. Roarke?" one of the bolder ones asked.

"Apparently not," Roarke said dryly. "Seen what?"

The group looked at one another nervously, and the same native shrugged, trying to look diffident. "Somebody's spreading rumors about the prince and Miss Leslie," he said. "Mostly the prince really. This magazine came out this morning and…well…"

"And what?" prodded Roarke with a faintly ominous tinge to his voice.

"Well, it said—" the man began, but never got any farther, for they heard a loud exclamation of disgust from the veranda and all turned to see Mariki there, brandishing a magazine in the air over her head.

"Mr. Roarke, this is an outrage! Look what this rag's done to Prince Christian and Miss Leslie!" she shouted furiously, stomping down the steps and thrusting the offending item at Roarke. A bit startled, Roarke took it, looked at the cover and drew himself up straight all at once, his dark eyes going very wide.

"What is it, Father?" Leslie asked apprehensively.

Roarke looked up and winced. "I am afraid you two had better brace yourselves," he said heavily. "Christian, it seems you in particular are in the spotlight this time." He gave Christian the magazine; and when Christian saw the cover, he turned very pale. Leslie got her look at it and gasped loudly.

"Who did that?" she cried out. "Why would they drag Christian into this?"

Christian cursed very sharply and hurled the magazine to the ground. "Is there some reason I must defend myself against garbage like this?" he snarled in a rage. "Can I never be left in any kind of peace?" He let out a loud growl of frustrated fury and stood breathing hard, clenching his teeth and screwing his eyes shut.

Leslie, clutching him tightly, peered down at the magazine with a jaundiced eye and then noticed something about the picture of Christian on the front. "Hey," she said, her voice soft with disbelief, "that looks like…" She squinted harder at it, then looked at Roarke with shocked eyes. "Father, that picture's one of Gordy Strassner's shots that he took at our anniversary party. I recognize Christian's clothes from that night, and you can see the plane-dock band in the background. Why on earth would he sell those pictures to a thing like that? How could he do something like that? I never thought…"

Roarke picked up the magazine and studied the picture. "You appear to be correct, Leslie," he agreed quietly.

Christian's rage shot up a couple of levels. "Is that why he kept bothering us to let him take pictures that night?" he demanded. "Just so he could sell us out?"

Roarke looked back and forth between him and Leslie, unable to answer. Christian and Leslie looked at each other, and he suddenly stepped back from her. "What do you believe, then?" he asked.

"It's not what I believe, it's what I know," Leslie said, understanding. He needed to know she was beside him. "You and Astrid Franzén were never that close, my darling."

Sheer relief filled Christian's face and he drew her in close, hugging her hard. "Thank fate for you," he murmured, burying his face in her hair. "You remembered what I told you before." He looked at Roarke. "Could we go inside, Mr. Roarke? I think I should explain a little, but I'd far rather do it in private. It's no one else's business, really."

"Of course," Roarke agreed immediately. "Come inside. Thank you, Mariki, I believe we can handle it from here." Mariki nodded, still full of righteous outrage at the wrong done her charges, and stalked back across the veranda. Roarke ushered Christian and Leslie into the study ahead of him and they all sat down, with Christian and Leslie linking hands across the space between their chairs.

Roarke leaned forward and regarded them both. "While I understand that this is a private matter, Christian, and one you prefer not to comment publicly about, I am afraid I myself need to know the particulars before I have any chance of helping you. You need not go into detail; simply tell me what you can, and if I have further questions I'll ask them."

Christian nodded. "I've been…shall we call it 'romantically involved'…with a total of seven women in my lifetime, Mr. Roarke. The first was Johanna; we were married when I was nineteen, and just less than three years later she was killed in a train derailment in Norway. We weren't in love; as a matter of fact, we disliked each other enough that we slept in separate rooms from the very night we were wed, and that marriage was never actually consummated. The second woman I was involved with was an oil heiress by the name of Ingela Vikslund. I met her in 1983…I think I was 24 at the time. She was the first woman I…" He hesitated, and Leslie squeezed his hand.

Roarke nodded understanding of what Christian had left unsaid. "I grasp your meaning, Christian. Please, go on."

"It didn't last long," Christian said, his gaze dropping with discomfort. "We shared her bed exactly once. It wasn't long afterward that we went our separate ways. But I'm not the most social of people, and for royalty that can be somewhat detrimental." He shrugged. "In any case, it was another two years before the third woman and I met. She was a young actress from Sweden, named Maria Dahl. It lasted two months during the summer of 1985 and never got beyond the platonic stage, because I found her so shallow. Also, my mother died late in August that year, and I just didn't have the time or inclination to bother, through my grief.

"Astrid Franzén was the fourth—the woman featured on that magazine cover. I met her in 1989…at the time it was a mere two or three weeks before my thirty-first birthday, and my father was livid that I'd gone this far and been involved with only three women in my entire life. He couldn't understand why I refused to be seen with starlets, heiresses, jet-setters, other royalty, the daughters of assorted politicians…as I said, I'm not very social, particularly not for a prince. He made it plain that he found me a great disappointment." He cleared his throat and gave Leslie such a sheepish look that she blinked in surprise and half smiled. "Astrid was an attempt to quiet him, I'm afraid. I was in such a rage, so furious that he couldn't simply accept me as I was, that I decided to give him the shock of his life. That very same night I went to a rather notorious nightclub in downtown Sundborg and made certain I was very visible." Christian grinned and shook his head at himself, then looked at Leslie again. "Incorrigible."

"As always, my love," she said with a soft laugh. "It's okay, I'm here for you."

Christian seemed to relax a little at that and renewed his grip on her hand, finally daring to meet Roarke's amused gaze. "It just so happened that Astrid Franzén was performing at the club that night. I had already begun to regret going, but I felt I was in too deep and I might as well make a thorough job of it. So I found a table up front, evicted its occupants—yes, I was in a very royal mood that night—and sat facing the stage, watching Astrid sing. Eventually she noticed me. She's also a _jordisk_ native, you see, so of course she knew who I was. When she finished her set, she jumped down from the stage and took the empty chair at my table, and asked me point-blank what I was doing there. I told her I was trying to shock my father, and she told me that was the reason she was a punk singer…for that's what she was." He quirked his mouth and looked away when Roarke's eyes widened and a grin broke out. "What can I tell you?"

"Most young men have periods of rebellion, Christian," Roarke said reassuringly. "I think you simply experienced yours a little later than average. Go on."

"Yes, well…" Christian grinned reluctantly. "She said she became a punk singer to shock her extremely straitlaced parents, and that it had worked so well they hadn't spoken to her in six years. She suspected they'd be equally stunned if they saw her dating one of the royal family. So our 'relationship', such as it was, was merely a conspiracy to make a statement to certain people. We became friends, as much as a prince and a punker can ever be friends, and spent five months escorting each other to concerts, out to dinner, and to the odd formal event that most royals seem obliged to attend. I'm afraid I especially anticipated those occasions, because my father would spend the whole evening steaming, without being able to do or say anything—at least not in public.

"Anyway, that first night, Astrid and I sat there at that table and talked for a good hour or more, and then she asked if I was interested in dinner somewhere. I was hungry, so I agreed. And naturally, we were caught out and about by some tabloid photographer. The very next day, Astrid and I dominated the cover of that rag, and my father did in fact get the shock of his life. He was so stunned he lost the power of speech and simply stared at me as if I had gone mad before his very eyes. Frankly, I was delighted—it was exactly the effect I had hoped for. When I invited her to the birthday party my family insisted on holding for me later that month, he was shocked all over again. The shock value wore off shortly afterward and he simply grew enraged with me." Christian sighed. "Now that I look back at it, I see it as the silliness it really was. But my temper had gone beyond my control and I was simply fed up."

Leslie giggled. "Completely understandable."

Christian looked at her and chuckled, remarking, "You're very indulgent with me, my Rose…maybe too much so. Where were you at the time I was using Astrid to drive my father half insane with anger?"

"Married to Teppo," she said. "The day after your birthday, we had our fourth wedding anniversary—it was the beginning of the last year of his life."

"Ah, I see…so even if I had somehow met you then, it wouldn't have done me any good," Christian said, grinning wryly. "Well, let me finally get to the point here, Mr. Roarke. Astrid and I were never more than friends. We just weren't attracted to each other; in fact, she was developing an interest in the lead singer of some goth-rock outfit from Great Britain somewhere. The one time we ever kissed was when she told me she had decided to openly pursue the man, and that was a peck on the cheek on both our parts. She thanked me for my friendship, wished me luck and walked away…and that was the last I ever saw of her. We never once shared a bed, not for any reason at all."

Roarke nodded and asked, "Was this something you or she ever made public?"

Christian shrugged uncomfortably. "We should have, I suppose. Unfortunately, we were both still young enough to be stupid and a bit reckless, and we were having too much fun startling our respective relatives and provoking the media. Once we parted ways, I went back to my quiet private life, and the tabloids got the message after several weeks of speculation and left me alone again finally. It was a relief; I realized shortly after she was gone that I'd been growing tired of making social rounds like that.

"In any case, I met the daughter of Lilla Jordsö's largest jeweler in the spring of 1992: Karin Grimsby was her name, and we were introduced at some stuffily formal party in the city. Karin was a very quiet, refined young woman, exactly the sort suitable to be seen with a prince, and I did like her. It was about as close as I had ever come to falling in love till that time. She was my fifth relationship, and the second woman I…had relations with. That one lasted nearly till Christmas, and I broke it off because I realized that in spite of everything, she still hadn't quite reached my heart. Perhaps that's because her world was too close to the one in which I was raised…all stuffy, stilted formality and refined manners and chilly treatment of those considered inferior, in whatever way. She took it well; her parents didn't, but that was their problem." He sighed gently; then his eyes warmed and he stroked his thumb across Leslie's fingers. "Then, of course, in the summer of 1996, I came here, met Leslie, and finally…_finally_…fell in love—only to be thwarted by my enforced marriage to Marina, whom I suppose you could count as the sixth woman I was involved with. And as you both know, that marriage wasn't consummated either. Leslie is the seventh and last, and, well…I daresay the state of our relationship is obvious."

Roarke chuckled at that. "In a very good way, Christian. So…you've had a somewhat checkered dating history, it seems, but clearly nothing scandalous—not even your involvement with Miss Franzén. After all, as you said, you were merely friends with her."

Christian sat up and stared at him, then ventured, "You believe me?"

"Is there some reason I should not?" Roarke inquired curiously.

"No…no, I merely admit to surprise," Christian said. "After all, it's only my words. If I say that Astrid Franzén and I never slept together, it will be seen only as the panicked former prince trying to save his reputation. It will have to come from Astrid."

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other and nodded regretfully at the same moment. Christian, having been a public figure all his life, was clearly all too familiar with the ways of these things. "Then perhaps the only thing you can do is to remain out of sight as much as possible," Roarke said quietly, "and see what develops. I am terribly sorry I can do nothing more to assist you, Christian…"

Christian shrugged. "It's not something you should feel obliged to apologize for," he said. "In a way, I'm relieved that you know. Those who are most important to me will know the truth—especially Leslie." He gave her a look of love and gratitude, and she smiled at him and squeezed his hand. "I just wish I could understand what made Gordy do what he did. We both thought he was a friend, and—"

At that moment the door flew open and Gordy Strassner skidded in, catching himself on the support post. Roarke, Leslie and Christian all arose to stare; instantly Christian's features grew cold and angry, and Leslie looked almost as forbidding as he did. Roarke, too, looked grim, and their expressions put Gordy on the defensive from the start. "It's not my fault!" he exclaimed.

Christian stared at him, disbelief and disgust written all over his face. "You can actually dare to say that, after a betrayal like this?" he demanded.

"Gordy, how could you?" Leslie asked, bewildered, going to Christian and sliding a protective arm around him. "We trusted you…considered you a friend."

"I am!—if you'd just let me explain!" Gordy burst out desperately.

Christian's hazel eyes were icy—a look Leslie quietly hoped she'd never see directed at her. "We know all we need to," he said in a clipped voice. "It's the sort of thing I expect from the media…but I thought I was safe from that here. It seems I was wrong. Is there no one I can trust anymore, other than my own wife and family?" He shook his head. "Please, Mr. Roarke, if you'd excuse us…" He caught Leslie in his embrace and took her with him, past Gordy and out the door.

A knot of young native girls, four or five of them perhaps, stood in the middle of the brick walk leading from the steps to the lane, in a huddle and going over the very magazine that was causing trouble. Christian stopped short; Leslie drew herself up straight, a sudden wrath of her own surging forth. "Wait here just a second, my love," she murmured to him and strode determinedly across the porch and down the stairs. The native girls heard her steps and turned as one, quailing at sight of her.

"Doesn't any one of you have any work to do?" Leslie spat, eyes blazing.

That was all it took; the group split apart and fled in all directions. Leslie stood there with her arms folded over her chest, seething quietly, but looking on with satisfaction. At times she found it quite expedient to be her father's daughter. Christian caught up with her, a faint grin on his face and a light in his eyes. "My heroine," he kidded gently.

She hugged him hard. "It's completely unfair," she muttered, simmering. "That stupid rag picking on you, giving it a slant that makes it impossible for you to defend yourself—and someone we thought we knew getting himself involved. Oh, Christian, my darling, I wish I could make everything right for you again. I feel so…powerless."

"All you need, my Leslie Rose, is the power to terrify the locals into having some respect," Christian said humorously, rocking her and stroking her hair. "I know it's hard to believe, but this will eventually blow over. We'll just have to face a lot of questions in the meantime, especially from our friends and probably the family in Lilla Jordsö." He sighed deeply. "It wouldn't bother me half as much if it weren't for Gordy's involvement. I really thought he was a friend. I thought that here, I would be able to trust those around me, as I never quite learned to do growing up. I suppose I'd better stop dreaming."

She pulled her head back to look up at him. "Just remember this, Christian, please. No matter what else happens, no matter who might betray you, no matter who does what to you—you can always count on me. I'll always be there, I'll always be on your side. Even if everyone else on earth turns their backs on you, there'll still be one person sticking with you, and that's me. As long as I'm there, nobody hurts you. I love you."

He was smiling broadly when she finished, and now he dipped his head and kissed her. "My darling, I would trust you with my very life. Now why don't we go on home and close out the rest of the world. The next two days belong to us, and I think we deserve to go incommunicado for the duration. And by the way…I love you too, always."


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § -- January 28, 2002

Inside the house, Gordy tried not to shiver; he had almost felt a chill wind brush against him in the wake of Christian and Leslie's departure. He gave Roarke a dazed look and protested, "Mr. Roarke, they wouldn't even let me try to explain!"

Roarke's expression wasn't quite hostile, but he wasn't very encouraging either; Gordy supposed he shouldn't blame the man. After all, this directly involved his own family. "Surely you understand why," Roarke said quietly.

"I never meant to do that to them," Gordy insisted frantically, coming into the study to face Roarke head-on. "I mean…I even investigated that magazine and asked them why they wanted the pictures! They said it was for a legitimate story!"

Roarke regarded him thoughtfully, with some sympathy and a good deal of regret. "You must realize what this looks like to Christian and Leslie," he said gently. "To Christian especially, being the public figure he has always been."

"But it's not," Gordy said stubbornly, desperate to be understood. "Mr. Roarke, I don't do that to my friends—not to anybody! Somebody at that magazine lied to me!"

Roarke glanced at the lurid cover, then at Gordy. "Do you have any sort of proof that will back you up?" he asked.

"I can get it," Gordy burst out, so frantic that he gave no thought to exactly how he intended to do so. "That magazine used me, Mr. Roarke. They—" He stopped, noting Roarke's cool gaze. "You don't believe me any more than Christian and Leslie do, do you?"

Roarke smiled slightly. "I am willing to be persuaded," he said.

Very surprised, Gordy stared at him for a long moment, then relaxed fractionally, a little hope flaring to life. "You're the first person on the island who's looked at me with anything other than contempt since this morning," he said. "I'm starting to wish for a hole to jump into. I admit, I don't have a lot to support my story. I've got the original letter they sent me with the offer for the photos, and I still have the e-mail message they sent me telling me what the pictures were supposedly gonna be used for. That's about it, though. Do you think that'll be enough?"

"It's a beginning," Roarke said, "however small. If I could perhaps examine these items, that may be of some help to me. Once I have seen them, we can go forward from that point and try to decide if something further can be done."

"Got it," Gordy said. "Thanks, Mr. Roarke, this means a lot to me." He took off at a full-out run through the French shutters, the better to get back to the Ring Road faster.

He stopped in town long enough to drop in at the bookstore and peruse the magazine rack; there was a large selection there, from some thirty countries in North and South America, Europe and Asia, as well as South Africa, Australia and New Zealand. Many of the European ones, particularly the Scandinavian publications, carried Astrid Franzén's story as front-page news; some from England, Canada and the States did as well. It was a relief to see that none of these used his photo of Christian at least. Gordy set his jaw and collected all the periodicals he could see that bore the singer's or Christian's name, even though many of them were in languages he couldn't read, and toted the lot to the cashier. He found himself standing behind someone familiar—a pale-blonde woman with vividly green eyes. As he stepped into line behind her, she glanced back at him, then looked again…and he could almost see the ice form over her face.

"Looking to see who else used your shots of poor Christian?" Maureen Harding asked in a quiet but frigid voice.

"No, that's not it," Gordy said. "You know, I'd try to explain, but nobody's going to listen to my side of things, so I'm not even gonna bother. Go right ahead and believe whatever you want." He was angry enough to lash out. "But I _am_ gonna clear my name, one way or the other." He broke their gaze and looked away, trying to signify the close of the discussion; but he could feel Maureen's eyes lingering.

"How do you think you can clear your name of anything involved with this?" she asked. "Are you saying you didn't know what they were going to do with those photos?"

"Yup," said Gordy tightly. "I'm gathering evidence. You might tell your husband he may be getting a call from me, because I might just decide to sue."

Maureen shook her head slightly. "Well, it's Grady's job to be impartial," she said, "but it sure isn't mine. And you'll just have to excuse me for having trouble believing anything you have to say right now." Gordy scowled as she turned away, getting in the last word after all. He had a long way to go to prove his innocence.

The cashier gave him an odd look; clearly she, too, recognized him. Gordy's return glare dared her to say a word; she remained silent throughout the transaction. He returned to his bike, climbed aboard with his bagful of magazines and struck off for home.

It was a relief to get there, away from censorious, hostile eyes. He dropped the bag on the sofa, rummaged in the cabinet for a bag of potato chips, and ensconced himself before his computer. He had access to his newspaper e-mail from home, so in a few minutes he was logging into that account and going through the old messages, looking for the reply to the one he had sent the day after reading the original offer. Presently he found it, opened it and reread the text, then bit his lip. _"Thank you for your inquiry, Mr. Strassner. It's our hope to be able to accompany a short piece about Prince Christian, around his and his wife's first wedding anniversary, with your photographs. We are planning a feature article that will make mention of their first year of marriage…"_

Gordy groaned softly. That was ambiguous wording for sure. Well, he needed all the evidence he could get; even ambiguity could help. They had never specified exactly what the article was going to be about. He printed the message, leaving it in his account but forwarding it to his private e-mail as well so he'd have an extra copy if he needed it.

Then he opened the original magazine and leaned back in his chair, absently munching on chips while he read the article. It revolved around the revelation that "native Jordsonian punk rocker Astrid Franzén has discovered that she has the HIV virus", going on to include a "partial list" of the many men she had dated, or at least been seen with, through the past eighteen or twenty years since her career had taken off in her home country. Gordy grew more and more amazed as he read; there were some twelve or fifteen names listed, including a couple of actors, a movie director, a television personality from England, at least half a dozen musicians who were well-known for their womanizing reputations—including a goth-rock singer by the odd stage name of "Ricko Sicko" whose band Gordy himself remembered listening to for a while in the early 80s—two politicians' sons, a prominent journalist…and Christian.

Christian's name had been left for last in the list so that the next couple of paragraphs could focus on his involvement with Astrid. Gordy's eyes widened when he read them. So Christian had dated the woman at one time; that explained the headline at least. But he didn't like the suggestive slant of the remarks: _"…Yes, you read that last name correctly. Without question, the most unlikely of Franzén's escorts was Crown Prince Christian, the youngest of the four children born to King Arnulf I and Queen Susanna. Then 31, Christian met Franzén in a Sundborg nightclub with a fairly wild reputation, and somehow the two hit it off and were seen frequently around the city for the next five months. The royal family was curiously silent about Christian's escapade with Franzén, but media speculation was rabid. When Franzén moved on to chase Sicko, lead singer of At Death's Door, Christian dropped out of sight and the media gave up on him. He is now married to third wife Leslie, the daughter of Mr. Roarke of Fantasy Island; attempts to reach the former prince for comment were thwarted or went unanswered._

"_Is it possible that the prince was infected by Franzén? Even more shocking—could _he_ have passed the disease on to _her_? Prior to meeting Franzén, Christian had been involved with only three other women: his first wife, Norwegian socialite Johanna Rollefsen, who was killed in a train derailment in July 1980; oil-empire heiress Ingela Vikslund; and Swedish film starlet Maria Dahl. Little is known about these relationships despite many attempts to research the former prince's background for this story. Christian and his current wife, married in January 2001, recently were seen at a party for their first wedding anniversary, as shown in these exclusive photos…"_

Gordy swore aloud and shook his head. Now they were suggesting that Christian might be the reason the singer was ill? As little as he knew about Christian's dating history, it just sounded wrong to him. He couldn't pin down exactly what it was about Christian that made him feel that way; maybe it was the fact that he'd always been such a private person, so much so that whenever he was seen stepping out with some woman, it had probably been front-page news in Lilla Jordsö for weeks on end. He stared at two of his own shots of Christian and Leslie, sitting together at a table with a couple of their friends visible in the background, each one with an arm around the other and looking very happy. "Y'know, Christian," Gordy muttered aloud, "you oughta sue this rag."

That reminded him of his remark to Maureen Harding about possibly contacting her husband to file a suit of his own. He wondered how feasible that really was. So far he hadn't been paid for those pictures, but now he didn't care if he ever was. It would feel like tainted money to him. On the other hand, he could always sue for failure to compensate…or would that look all wrong too? Gordy groaned and massaged his forehead, trying to forestall the headache he could feel coming on. Everybody had been accusing him of selling out, and if he sued for lack of payment, it'd be true. He did, at least, still have the negatives; but in today's highly technological world, he had to wonder what that was worth anymore.

Tired of potato chips and looking for something more substantial, he wandered back into the kitchen and poked idly around in cabinets, carrying a British magazine with him and dividing his attention between it and his search for sustenance. The British publication put an even more lurid slant on the thing than the New York one had done; the author of its piece had a sort of "nudge-and-wink" style that made Gordy grind his teeth. Various other publications treated the whole thing with widely differing degrees of gravity, but they all essentially repeated one another. By the time he got around to a small tabloid about the size of a _Reader's Digest_ issue, a periodical that in fact came from Lilla Jordsö, he was disgusted and discouraged, with the feeling that it wasn't even worth trying to clear himself. Nothing had given him any useful information; he had been able only to ascertain that nobody else had used his pictures for their stories.

He couldn't read _jordiska_, of course, but there was little doubt that this magazine said nothing any different from any of the others. He glanced at the various pictures—this time, there was a full-page shot of Christian and the singer during the time they'd been dating, with Franzén grinning slyly and Christian wearing a slightly annoyed smile—before he happened to see something odd across the bottom of one page and paused to get a better look at it. It was a website for Astrid Franzén.

An idea began to take shape in Gordy's head and he got back online, then typed the name of the site into the search bar and hit the "enter" key. It took so long for the site to come up that he suspected it must be getting countless hits generated by all the recent press. He was willing to be patient, though, and waited it out, at one point grabbing his cell phone and calling in an order for pizza, which arrived before the site had finished loading.

Finally he was in, and he checked out the various features. The site, it developed, could be read in English, Spanish, French, German or _jordiska_, and contained a biography of the singer and assorted photographs, mostly of her in concert. Gordy wondered what language she sang in; until this morning he'd never heard of her. He scrolled down the main page and scanned the bottom…and there, in tiny print, was the pseudo-English-looking word _elektropost_. What on earth did that mean? It was probably _jordiska_, which meant the only person who'd be able to translate it for him was Christian—who, of course, wasn't speaking to him. Gordy peered at it, frowned, then shrugged to himself and clicked on it just to see what would happen.

To his great amazement, a blank e-mail message came up, with an address already entered in the top bar. Gordy's fledgling idea took sudden flight, and in a burst of inspiration he began to type.

To Whom It May Concern:

My name is Gordy Strassner and I am acquainted with Christian, the former prince of Lilla Jordsö. The current issue of an American publication used some photos I took of Christian and his wife, Leslie, at their first-anniversary party here on Fantasy Island, whose newspaper I work for.

I just saw the magazine today and discovered the real subject of the story my pictures were used for. I'm not sure what other publications are saying, but this one suggests that maybe it was the prince who was the reason Miss Franzén is ill. I'm pretty sure that isn't the case. I'm thinking about suing that magazine for fraudulent use of my photos, but frankly I'm not the only one who'd have reason to sue. Prince Christian definitely would, and I guess Miss Franzén would too.

I don't know if Miss Franzén herself would see this. If she is reading this: please, I'd really appreciate a response. Christian and his wife both think I sold them out, and that's just not true. It would do them a lot of good if you could speak out and let the truth be known. Me, I gotta fight my own fight, but it'd make me feel better if you could tell these media hounds to lay off Christian. He doesn't deserve this.

Thanks for your time.

Sincerely, Gordy Strassner

He read the message over a couple of times, changed some words, then sent it and fell back in the chair, taking a big bite out of a slice of pizza. It was a long shot, to be sure, but he was willing to try anything now.


	7. Chapter 7

§ § § -- February 4, 2002

It had been a long and difficult week for both Christian and Leslie. Their friends had immediately rallied around them, offering support and loyalty that they both appreciated deeply; Christian's employees, too, had declared their support in the face of the rumors going around. But it was different with many of Roarke's employees, mostly those who had little or no regular contact with either Leslie or Christian and who tended to read tabloids on a regular basis. The previous Wednesday when the couple had returned to work from their shared weekend—the entirety of which they'd spent holed up in their house—there had been many speculative glances at Christian, many pitying looks directed at Leslie, a lot of headshaking, and what appeared to be general censure. They'd met Roarke at the main house for lunch that day and had both admitted to having a great deal of trouble controlling their tempers at all the open reactions. It had prompted Roarke to send a blanket e-mail warning his employees to mind their own business and leave Christian and Leslie to theirs, to keep the peace around the island.

But Roarke had been doing some investigating of his own. Like Gordy the week before, he had read the complete article in the magazine that had employed Gordy's photos, and had been more than a little amazed at the idea that Christian might have given the singer the virus. It was even more absurd than the suggestion that Astrid Franzén had passed it to him. The sentence claiming that the magazine had attempted to contact Christian for comment had amazed him almost as much, and he had made a few phone calls to find out if anyone had, in fact, called looking to ask Christian for comments of any kind on the situation. Everyone told him no, making Roarke surmise the writer of the piece was simply trying to get away with laziness in not getting Christian's side of the tale.

It had even gone to their guests that weekend. Ever since that anonymous castle employee had told the true story of Christian's second marriage, his fame had grown, pulling the fame of the rest of the _jordiska_ royals and their home country along with it; like it or not, he was more of a public figure now than he had been throughout his life till that point. This, of course, meant that people also knew that Leslie was his wife, and she'd had enough pitying or judgmental looks from even their fantasizing guests that she'd broken down in tears on Saturday evening and begged Roarke to let her out of luau duty that night. Roarke had called Christian, explained things, and had him take her home, so that she had spent her first-ever Saturday night sleeping in hers and Christian's shared home.

Now, on Monday morning, when they saw Christian waiting in front of the main house as always, Leslie threw herself into his arms and burst into tears again, so distraught that she couldn't even find the time to greet him. Christian had no need to ask what it was about; he sighed deeply and cradled her close, rocking her gently as she cried into his shoulder. "Was there another incident at the plane dock?" he asked.

Roarke nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. Our guests at least had the sense to withhold any further comments, but several of the native girls had no such grace about them."

Christian shook his head. "We can lie low for only so long," he said. "We both have to work, and there are various other reasons we have to go out in public. For me, it's mainly an annoyance—but Leslie isn't accustomed to this sort of thing, and my primary anger over this is that she's being hurt. I feel as if I need to apologize, Mr. Roarke."

Roarke said, "It's no more your fault than anyone else's, Christian, so there's no need for any such action on your part. However, before you and Leslie return home, I would ask for some of your time. There is a new article that I think you should both see."

Christian stilled, his expression going wary. "Is there?"

"Come in with me, both of you," Roarke said and started toward the house. Christian turned to Leslie and rested his head against hers.

"My Rose, please, don't cry," he pleaded, still slowly smoothing her hair as he'd been doing since she and Roarke came back. "I admit to some trepidation over whatever your father has to show us now, but perhaps it's something good. I'm so sorry you had to be dragged into my scandal."

"It's not your scandal," Leslie said fiercely through her tears, looking up at him. "It's Astrid Franzén's. You can tell me it's an annoyance all you want, but I know it's hurting you too, and that kills me. How can people be so cruel?"

"I don't know, my darling," Christian said softly. "I don't know. Well, come on, let's see what Mr. Roarke has waiting for us." Slowly they turned and, each with an arm around the other, climbed the steps and crossed the porch to join Roarke, who had paused at the door to wait for them. He gave them a sympathetic smile and ushered them in ahead of him.

Urging them to sit down, he took his own chair and picked up a British magazine from the desk. "This arrived by courier just before Leslie and I left for the plane dock," he told them, "and the pertinent page was marked with a handwritten note. As it happens, the note is in _jordiska_, so I am afraid I must ask you to translate it, Christian, if you would."

Looking very puzzled, Christian accepted the slip of paper Roarke handed to him and unfolded it. "There isn't much to it," he said, noting the scant few lines on the paper. He read it, his eyes widening when he reached the signature. _"Herregud."_

"What's it say?" Leslie asked.

He cast her an amazed glance, swept it across Roarke, then read aloud, translating the words. _"Dear Christian, I should have said something before, but there has been so much trouble with the media lately that I have been trying to keep as low a profile as possible. But when this was brought to my attention, I knew it was necessary for me to right a terrible wrong. You will see what I mean in the article I have marked here. I don't know exactly how to reach you, so I am sending this to Mr. Roarke. I wish you and your wife Leslie all the happiness in the world—you both deserve it. In friendship, Astrid Franzén."_

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other; Leslie's mouth fell open and Roarke smiled. Since Christian had the note, he gave Leslie the magazine. "Go ahead and read the article aloud, child," he suggested gently.

He had opened it to the page in question and folded back the preceding pages so that Leslie could easily see the article. She stared in surprise at the title, which read, "HIV-afflicted singer sets record straight." Reading this aloud, she looked up at her father and husband and remarked, "I don't know whether that's meant to be a pun or not."

They both laughed. "Read it, my darling," Christian urged.

Leslie took a breath and read: _"Singer and Lilla Jordsö native Astrid Franzén, 41, knew her life would be changed forever when she discovered she had the virus that causes AIDS—but she never imagined that this revelation would adversely affect other lives as well. She contacted this magazine just after the explosive headlines circulated around the world and asked us to print the following statement, explaining that she wanted it to appear in an English-language magazine in order that the greatest number of people would see and understand her intent. Says Franzén: 'It has come to my attention that a large reason for the enormous publicity about my illness is that I was briefly involved with Prince Christian of my home country's royal family. Before any further damage is done to him or his wife, I want it known that he is completely innocent of all speculation in the matter. I did not pass the virus to him, and he most certainly didn't give it to me. Christian and I were friends in 1989 for several months, and in all that time we never once did anything more than hold hands. We parted amicably in the autumn of that year and have not been in contact since then. We never slept together, never even kissed each other. It's my hope that this will take the pressure off Christian and his wife—pressure they never deserved.' "_ Leslie looked up then; Roarke was smiling slightly, and Christian looked amazed. "And here's the kicker," she said softly. "Listen to this. _'I wish to thank Gordy Strassner for calling this to my attention so that I was able to make things right.' "_

Christian stared at her. "Gordy?" he said, flabbergasted.

"That's what it says here," said Leslie. "I'm just as amazed as you are, my love."

"Perhaps it's not so surprising," Roarke said. "You'll recall that he maintained his innocence from the beginning. After you two left for home last Monday, he insisted that the magazine had told him they meant to use his photographs for something in note of your first wedding anniversary, and that he would never play such a trick on his friends—or indeed on anyone at all. Since then he has shown me some material in support of his claim, and while I am afraid it will do little to help him, I must tell you both that I find this action on his part very commendable. He did it knowing that it would help the two of you without easing any of the burden on him."

Christian and Leslie looked at each other in a stunned silence for a long minute or so; then Leslie bit her lip and said hesitantly, "Christian, my darling, I think maybe we misjudged Gordy…I mean, a thing like that…it just wasn't like him at all."

Christian broke his gaze and looked at the floor, sighing. "No, I think you're right. He and I had become friends across the past year, what with all the times Anton and I had to go to the newspaper to fix computer problems, and he always struck me as a very unassuming person, very amiable and easygoing. It occurs to me now that if he had really known what that rag was going to do with his photos of us, he wouldn't even have bothered asking our permission to take them." He looked up again in time to see Leslie's nod, and he reached out for her hand, which she grasped immediately. They both turned then to Roarke, and Christian concluded, "Do you suppose he would be willing to listen to our apology?"

"Of that," said Roarke, "I have no doubt whatsoever. Let me call him and ask him to come over here." He did so, and Christian and Leslie settled back to wait, both looking rueful and wistful. After a couple of minutes Leslie got up and knelt beside Christian's chair, handing him the magazine she held so that he could see the text and the accompanying photo of Astrid Franzén, which appeared to have been taken recently.

"Mr. Roarke?" They all turned at the sound of Gordy's tentative voice, and Leslie stood up, still clutching Christian's hand. Gordy seemed startled to see them there, and had a look about him as if he were going to shy away at any moment.

"Welcome, Gordy," Roarke said, "and do come in…please, have a seat."

Gordy hesitated. "I don't know if…if your daughter and son-in-law would—"

Christian and Leslie looked at each other with regret, and he stood up beside her, with the magazine in one hand, his other arm around her. "I don't blame you for being leery after our last confrontation," Christian said. "But…well, Mr. Roarke showed us something that made us think. Perhaps you've seen it?" He offered Gordy the magazine.

Looking very surprised, Gordy came in and accepted it, peering at the article that Christian and Leslie had been reading. His eyes went very wide when he read the final line, and he looked up at Roarke. "When did you get this?"

"Just this morning," Roarke replied. "I believe the magazine will be in stores later today, but this particular issue came directly from Miss Franzén herself, addressed to Christian in care of me, and with a note to him from her."

"I never figured she'd give me credit," Gordy said. "I just thought she oughta know what was going on, that's all."

"It seems to me that Miss Franzén corrected two wrongs," Roarke observed. "The first was the rumor that surrounded Christian; and the second was the misunderstanding between you about those photographs."

Leslie nodded. "I think you're right, Father." She turned to Gordy and said softly, "We both want to apologize, Gordy. We jumped to conclusions…the only ones we could, but they were wrong anyway, and we never let that cross our minds."

"We can't do anything about the photos," Christian said with an apologetic smile, "but if you decide you want to take some sort of action against that magazine, you'll have our support." He started to say something, thought better of it, then cleared his throat and went ahead anyway. "If I'm prying, tell me…but what did they offer to pay you?"

"Doesn't matter," Gordy said and shrugged. "I still haven't gotten a check from them. Of course, if I did, I'd just tear it up. No amount of money is worth having friends think I sold them down the river." He handed the magazine back to Christian. "The _Chronicle_ officially fired me last Wednesday. Maybe that's just as well. I still have offers from those newspapers in Canada. Maybe I'll move there for a few years and have the chance to experience four seasons again."

"You aren't leaving on our account, are you?" Leslie asked with alarm.

For the first time Gordy really looked at her, saw her expression, then Christian's, and smiled. "Aw, c'mon, Leslie, it's not that bad. I was kind of stagnating here anyway, just taking fluff shots for celebrity news. I mean, heck, Christian, you were the one who couldn't figure out why I'd want to make a career out of that."

Christian grinned sheepishly and admitted, "That's true—but I don't like the thought that it was our reaction to that magazine's use of your photographs that made you decide to leave Fantasy Island. Look…if Leslie and I speak for you, would you stay?"

Gordy stared at him, and Leslie said quickly, "It's really up to you…I mean, if you truly want to try something different, we're glad for you. I just…we…" She swallowed hard, and Christian squeezed her in reassurance. "I just feel guilty now," Leslie finally concluded in a small voice. "Like we drove you away."

"I feel the same," Christian confessed. "If you decided this before all this mess began, that's one thing…but if your decision came about because of us…"

Gordy smiled again and shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels and toes. "Well, to tell you the truth, it was kind of a big part of it. But before you say anything, I just want you guys to know—you don't need to feel guilty, or responsible, or anything else. I'm glad we've got everything straightened out, and that I have your friendship again…that's the best part of this. But it's gonna be hard for me to live down what happened here. You two could talk till you got laryngitis and some people would still just believe whatever they wanted to. I've already contacted one of the Canadian papers and accepted their offer, and I'll be leaving the end of the week."

"But you'll come back, won't you?" Leslie asked hopefully.

"Hey," Gordy said, "as long as I know I have friends here, I'll be back. I feel better about all this, knowing that Astrid Franzén made the truth public." He paused then and his face grew curious. "Uh, Christian, I was wondering…what's 'e-mail' in _jordiska?"_

Surprised, Christian said, "We call it _elektropost_. Why?"

Gordy grinned. "That's what I thought. When I sent Astrid Franzén that message, I did it by going on her website and clicking on that word at the bottom of the main page. I didn't know what it was and just clicked to see what it'd do." He snickered at the look that Christian and Leslie exchanged. "I just learned my first word in another language. Thanks, friend." He stuck his hand out at Christian, who let Leslie go long enough to shake it; Leslie, for her part, gave Gordy a swift hug.

"We'll miss you, Strassner," she said. "Keep in touch."

"Good luck," said Christian, and Gordy thanked them and Roarke before turning and departing. They stood silent for a moment; then Christian suddenly said, "You know, I just thought of something…we'd better warn Canada to plant extra crops so they'll be able to feed him when he gets there."

"I dare you to tell Gordy you said that!" Leslie exclaimed playfully amid the laughter, and Christian shrugged, chortling.  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
_Yup, Gordy will return eventually. Meanwhile, having filled in so darn much backstory for Christian in the last few tales, I've decided it's Leslie's turn. Watch for some of her history in the next story._


End file.
